If I Could Fly
by notcallingyoualiar
Summary: Sometimes, figuring out what's happening and who you are forces certain wheels of destiny to turn. With the help of a new relationship from a close friend, can she come to terms with who she is and who she must become? Lima, Ohio is meeting its own Superman. Or, Superwoman. Quintanna.
1. I: What Just Happened?

Suddenly faster, stronger, and smarter than before, Santana can't figure what's happening to her and what to do about it. With the help of a new relationship from a close friend, can she come to terms with who she is and who she must become? Quintanna.

* * *

**Chapter 1: What Just Happened?**

* * *

She sat alone on the gym floor, the smell of sneakers and pine sol floating around her. The smell of high school, for once, didn't bother Santana. Instead, she stared at the balance beam from which she just launched 65 feet into the air and landed safely and lightly on her toes. This was the third time she did it in the empty gymnasium, having stayed behind to see what was happening to her. Wide-eyed and stunned, she fell back and sat, staring at the balance beam that must have had some sort of slingshot effect. That could be the only explanation. But no other Cheerio had commented on being able to jump higher.

"How is that even- where did that come-"she interrogated herself, shaking her head. She had noticed she was getting stronger but there was nothing that explained why she suddenly turned into a human rocketship. Her thoughts consumed her as she picked herself up and headed towards the locker room, an unused gym towel slung over shoulder.

Cheerio practice was long over. Coach Sylvester made them do handstands for 4 minutes with one minute breaks in between. It doesn't sound too bad but being upside down made your face flush and head start spinning. It was one of the worst drills ever but today, for some reason, today, it wasn't so bad for Santana. In fact, she hardly spent any energy, even having the strength and balance to twist around and look at other girls while maintaining a perfect balance. These were followed up by suicide drills.

Suicides burned her thighs. That is the best description that she could come up with after Cheerio bootcamp. It felt like someone was scraping a white-hot blade back and forth on her tan thighs as they dipped and sprinted back and forth, back and forth.

_But not today_, Santana realized. In front of the red Cheerio lockers, she slowly peeled off her uniform. Her thighs did not burn today. Come to think of it, there was no strain in suicides. In fact, she can't remember the last time it was truly hard. _Sylvester said I was first… by a long shot_. Was she? She couldn't even remember when adrenaline and competition was coursing through her muscles. Adrenaline and competition always managed to block out everyone but herself; she kept careful track of how well _she_ did and only managed to compare herself to others when she finished, panting at the end. But today, she finished the suicides and let loose her raven-black hair to retie it. By the time she finished perfecting her look, all the other Cheerios were next to her, bent over and panting while she stood calm and collected, only irritated by the fact that suicides had messed up her perfect ponytail.

She wrapped herself in a towel, not really focusing on anything as she headed to the shower room. Staring at the ground as she walked, she tried to recount the past couple practices to see if anything could explain her newfound strength and speed.

_I don't get it_, she thought. _What's going on? Nothing has changed lately and-_

"Hey!" Santana's thoughts come screeching to a halt as a wet body slid smacked straight on her chest. She walked straight into Quinn, who was just coming out of the shower herself, by the looks (and wet feel) of it.

Santana managed to crash back from her thoughts just in time to deliver a genuine apology. Her voice, distant to her own ears, floated out a soft "sorry".

Quinn's face softened at the softness of Santana's voice. The Latina never stepped back from a confrontation, even if it was her fault for running into Quinn, let alone _apologize_. Quinn glanced around; no one was here but the two of them. In these private moments, Quinn was allowed to care for her friend. Sure, they were always competing to be head bitch in charge but they both knew it was in good spirits, despite what others think. No matter what, _they_ knew they got each other's back in an odd love-hate relationship that most people couldn't understand.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Quinn offered a smile. "Are you okay?"

Quinn heard the concern creep into her own voice, even though she tried to be nonchalant. She picked up the towel she dropped in surprise from running straight into Santana and wrapped herself again, carefully tucking in the corners. Santana's mind was definitely somewhere else, her eyes not focusing on the naked blonde in front of her. Or even the fact that there was no one else.

"Yeah- I just… wasn't being carefully," Santana replied, smiling weakly. "Didn't see you there." She quickly moved aside to walk past Quinn and into the shower, leaving the blonde a little dumbfounded at what appeared to be Santana's newfound considerate personality. Quinn stared as the steam slowly obscured her view of the bronze body, now completely uncovered. When Santana got like this, Quinn knew to give her space; she'd approach her when Santana had some time to think about whatever was on her mind. Maybe tomorrow, after Glee. Quinn dried off, dressed herself, and with her car keys in hand, strode off to the parking lot with the sun still setting outside.

Santana, on the other hand, stood under the hot water, one hand pressed up against the wall and one hand on the hot water handle. Nothing she tried to remember could explain the sudden change in her capabilities. She gripped her hands with concern and-

_ Krunk_.

Santana stared at the broken metal handle in her hand. Okay, now would be the time to freak out.

Santana grabbed her towel and ran out to the locker room. Faster than Quinn had, she dried off and quickly put on leggings and a shirt before racing out, the sound of the broken shower stall hissing behind her. She brushed Quinn's shoulder as she bolted the gym.

What Santana failed to notice in her hurry was how fast she was going. Quinn, who had showered, finished, and left earlier, turned at the soft brush of her shoulder but looked behind to find that no one was in the locker room anymore. She turned back to the parking lot just in time to see Santana's car pulling out.

_What the fuck?_ Santana thought as she looked over at the broken handle in her passenger seat.


	2. I: Broken Handles and Duets

**Chapter 2: Broken Handles and Duets**

* * *

The bell rang loudly, jerking Santana from mentally replaying the little gymnastic stunt that pretty much declared her as a freak. It was the five-minute warning bell and she slowly began spacing out again when she felt a finger brushing against her pinky.

Brittany had bounced into the room, hands on her backpack straps and happy to see her best friend. When she flopped down next to Santana, she frowned; Santana didn't even look at her. That red chair in front of her was hogging all her attention! She reached out her pinky to hook Santana's.

Santana looked down, surprised to find Brittany's pinky tightly gripping hers.

"Hey," Brittany said quietly. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking."

"About what?"

_Just that I somehow managed to launch myself high enough to touch the gym ceiling and land back without breaking all or any of my bones. _Santana sighed. That wasn't just it. _I can sprint faster than ever; I'm not even sure if the timer could keep up.. I memorized the history book because I felt bored last night and I finished my older brother's engineering calculus in about thirty minutes. I'm turning into a sprinting Wikipedia. Or a smart frog. But other than that, nothing really._

"Nothing, Brittany. I'm just thinking about the duets we're apparently singing this week," Santana looked pointedly at the board where Mr. Schue was chalking "DUETS".

Quinn watched their close interaction from across the room, sitting on the piano. Mercedes was saying something about Breadstix but lost Quinn's attention the silent moment when Santana moved into the room without a sound and sat down, eyes fixed on the ground like it was playing a movie. Quinn wouldn't have even noticed if she wasn't watching the door for her. _What was up with this girl?_ Santana is _not_ a quiet person. Something is obviously bugging her. Even when Brittany came in, fresh-eyed, Santana didn't look up, not once.

The bell rang again just as Mr. Schue started clapping his hands together to get their attention.

"Hey, hey, guys! So this week, we're tackling duets," he could hardly contain his excitement. "You all know what it's like to be singing in groups and solos but do you know the challenge of just having one partner, one person to match up to? You'll pick a song and find a way to make it your own, a mixture of both your styles."

Schue pulled out a canvas tote bag from behind him, quiet rustling from inside the bag as he held it up.

"I'm going to be drawing names and those will be the pairs. You will have two weeks to find out what makes that person. Your assignment _is_ that person. Who are they and how does that translate into their music?"

"Tina and Brittany." Brittany brightened at the announcement of the first pairing as Tina looked over and smiled at her. Her smile quickly dropped as she turned and realized that she wasn't paired with her best friend.

"Rachel and Finn." Quinn rolled her eyes. Of course, they would be together. Since Finn and Rachel started going out, it was like their hips were permanently glued to each other and the gods decided to make a shrine of their couplehood.

"Mercedes and Artie." Artie wheeled around so fast to high-five Mercedes, knocking Santana's backpack over, which landed with a loud _clank_. Quinn glanced, confused by the deceiving sound in Santana's near-empty backpack.

"Santana and Quinn." Santana looked over to find Quinn's hazel-green eyes piercing through Santana already. Quinn didn't even hear Schue's pairing until a full three seconds later when she realized Santana was gazing back at her. Quinn gave a curt nod.

_Well, at least this makes talking to her easier,_ Quinn thought. She smiled to herself, excited that she and Santana would be able to spend some time together. They drifted apart every few months but managed to find their way back to each other, always. It was just those times. Quinn felt the time to get close again calling.

Santana, on the other hand, stopped listening and clocked out of the class pretty much right after Schue announced their pairing, Schue's voice fading into background din. The loud crack of the shower handle she broke off yesterday resonated loudly in her ears. Santana glanced at her backpack where the handle stayed hidden. She prayed all day to los dios that the handle would disappear and none of this happened.

Quinn's brows furrowed with concern when she recognized the distracted look on Santana's face, a look getting much too familiar.

The Latina stared at her legs swinging back and forth, hands gripping the plastic chair under her thighs, as she thought, _All I want is to be the perfect normal. _Someone upstairs is definitely enjoying a cruel joke at her expense.


	3. I: No Masks

**Chapter 3: No Masks**

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Quinn could pick out that vivid Cheerio red from a mile away. _Sylvester probably picked the color so that you could never miss us_, Quinn smirked as she crossed the student parking lot towards the Latina, who seemed to have her eyes permanently glued to a point in another universe. Santana sat with one leg bent on the wall, the other swinging out from under her. Her coffee-brown eyes were glazed over, chin perched on her bent knee, deep in thought. _She sure as hell isn't in this world._

AP Physics. AP Macroeconomics. AP Computer Science. AP English Literature and Composition. AP Calculus. She had all those classes hand back their finals today and she had aced them. _Some serious brain juice going on_. Santana furrowed her brows at the recollection. Good grades were great and she loved doing well; it was practically a compliment. But that pleasure came from studying hard and _earning_ those grades. She would never let anyone know but in her empty house, she wasn't drinking and having sex like everyone always assumed she was; she was studying. Her parents, who were working so much that it was a rare thing to see them for more than an hour every other week, let her do what she wanted and with that, she studied. Her stellar academic record wasn't thanks to being a Cheerio. It was thanks to being a closet nerd. Her AP physics exam, in particular, had her in sweatpants and black-framed Ray Ban glasses, eating only cereal for a week.

But these exams meant nothing. She read the books once and aced the exams. Simple as that. There was no strain, no _earning_ those grades. Instead, they sat in her backpack, making her feel like she cheated: all results, no work.

"Seriously, do you want to talk, S?"

The melodic and slightly wavering voice of Quinn Fabray brought a muddled Santana back to the earth.

"Huh? About what?"

Quinn sighed. It was like wringing a dry towel for water; God knows how long it would take to get answer from someone who is guarded with not just machine guns and steel walls but a fucking dragon.

"You've been acting weird. You're spacing out. You don't listen to anyone. You're not snapping at anyone. What is it? Are you pregnant?"

"_Excuse_ me?" Santana snapped back. She spun, her dark eyes flashing with sudden anger. Santana faced Quinn just in time to see the flurry of blonde hair rush towards her face as Quinn laughed and reached around Santana's neck, pulling the Latina's upper body into a tight hug. A wave of jasmine washed over her as Quinn squeezed tightly. Santana sank into the hug, letting all the worry and thoughts drain from her body to Quinn's. Shorter of the two, Santana looped her arms around Quinn's waist and buried her face into Quinn's collarbone. The worried blonde thought she felt wet cheeks against her neck. Quinn tried to push the concern out of her voice.

"Thank God! I thought we lost you forever!" Quinn laughed with an effort to put a little relief into her voice. "What would I do without my bitchier half?"

"Probably be head bitch in charge with no one to keep you in check," Santana's voice came out muffled against Quinn's shoulder. Quinn's arms gripped harder as she laughed louder.

Quinn's laughter was infectious because Santana finally grinned, her cheeks hurting from the long absence of a smile or at least a smirk thanks to what she was going to understand as evolutionary upgrades. _Not the time to think about it_, Santana dismissed the incident from her thoughts as quickly as it came. They pulled back from each other, no sign of tears. Quinn's hands still held onto Santana's shoulders, communicating the concern that wasn't showing on her face anymore.

Santana playfully punched Quinn's bare shoulder. "Who else would sit with you through hours of watching RENT with tissues and ice cream?"

Quinn laughed. They managed to watch RENT four times in one night on the floor of her bedroom. Somehow, she managed to cry all four times. By the second time, her eyes were swollen, her lips almost gnawed through with the nervous lip-biting habit. Santana had pulled her face in close, her cinnamon breath gently washing over her, and carefully wiped away Quinn's tears and smeared mascara with a tissue. She smiled at her lip-biting, taking one finger to trace those tortured lips with concern before leaning back and drawing her arm back around Quinn's shoulders as they watched RENT yet again. They watched like that, Quinn's head resting on Santana's shoulder, both tucked warmly under a comforter. The coffee ice cream had long melted by then, creating a small brown stain. They pulled a rug to cover it later; no one has to know.

"It's not like you didn't like it either!" Quinn chuckled at the memory. "Seasons of looooo-oooo-ooove—"

Santana couldn't help but laugh at her friend's silliness. It isn't often that Her Highness, _the_ composed and collected Quinn Fabray, acted silly and on _her_ account. Santana gently squeezed Quinn's shoulders with appreciation. "I'll walk you to your car? We can talk about the duet tomorrow if that's okay. I just want to go home and sleep, if that's okay."

Quinn nodded, feeling their happy moment come to a crashing halt as concern hit her again like a bag of cement. "Sure."

They walked side-by-side to Quinn's car, shoulders and fingers brushing lightly. Their proximity is not unusual.

Quinn leaned on the door of her car, her hands fiddling with the keys, wanting to grab Santana's shoulders and literally shake the truth out of her.

Santana looked curiously at her, perplexed by what could be on her mind. Quinn usually spits out what she wants to say, even if it's usually crap. Her hell-dark eyes narrowed at the sight of the blonde, fidgeting with her keys, biting her lower lip.

"What?" Santana leaned her open palm against the window, pulling up close to Quinn's face, now blushing under Santana's scrutiny. Impatience tinged the edges of Santana's voice, making it sharper than she had intended. Gaze hardened, honing in on Quinn. A hesitation floated between them.

Quinn bit her lip before she softly said to the asphalt under her feet, "You know you can talk to me, right? I mean it. If you need to."

Santana stepped back in surprise. _Where is this coming from? She doesn't know what's been going on. No one knows…_ Vivid green-hazel eyes looked back at her, etched with genuine concern with the emphasis on genuine. For once, Quinn has no guards up, no masks. Her soft pink lips pull into a soft genuine smile, a rare sight on school grounds. This honesty unhinges Santana, breaking down the laboriously built walls. For once, neither is barricaded in the safety of their guards.

"I'm just saying, S. I got you."


	4. I: Unholy Trinity Imbalance

**Chapter 4: The Unholy Trinity Imbalance**

* * *

She stayed behind after practice again. This time, Santana was careful, looking around before finally acknowledging that she, in fact, was the only left behind in the gym. _Probably would freak Brittany out to be here alone_, Santana laughed silently at the terrified and wide-eyed look that would be on Brittany's face if she realized she was alone. But Santana always found this place to be a safe place and time. Well, the gym, at least.

Santana swung one leg over the balance beam and sighed, not with exhaustion but with weariness of feeling _different_. She looked up at the wooden panels that lined the gym ceiling so far away. They felt dusty, like no one had touched them since they were built. Before Santana discovered her ability to become a jetpack. Even from where she was sitting, she could see the slight smear marks she left behind from brushing her finger tips against the ceiling.

It's painful to admit how freaked out she was.

_I got this. I got this. I got this_. Three words became her mantra as she climbed onto her feet, carefully maintaining balance on the beam. She walked slowly across, half in disbelief and half in awe. This was a sure feeling, just _knowing_ she wouldn't fall.

Her hair whipped when she spun as soon as she reached the end, her right foot flexed lightly on top of the beam. Sylvester had bought the extra long balance beam so that they could perform and perfect elaborate flips on it. Their meticulous practices translated over to their National wins, of course. If any of them wanted, a Cheerio could have easily become an Olympian gymnast. But who passes up the cinnamon-red uniform and becoming the elite Cheerio? No one, that's who.

She didn't even have to squint to see the tiny beige fibers of the balance beam on the other end, each fiber with its bristles sticking out. Each speck of dust floating in the rays of fading sunlight shined brightly. The spider on the right corner of the ceiling was practically stomping on her eardrums with steel boots. The soft breezes coming through the open windows of the gym, silent to anyone else, practically screamed. She wasn't just alive but she was _aware_.

Anyone watching would have seen a red and white blur race from one end of the beam to the other before rocketing off the tip of the beam. It happened so quickly that she cut cleanly through the air, not making even a soft _swoosh_ as she sped.

This time, she landed both hands on the ceiling and just for a moment too long, stayed up without the momentum of her jump. The world stood still as she was somewhat stuck in mid-air. Santana inhaled sharply, taking in the still moment she hovered.

She came down too slowly for gravity pulling her. Her sneakers made a soft squeak of rubber as she softly floated onto the floor, gingerly placing one foot down and then the other.

If she was going to be a freak, at least, she could outrun the taunting. Hell, she might even be flying.

* * *

When the Unholy Trinity walks, the hallway air buzzes with fear. As in, the air literally swishes with the crowds of faceless students trying to part fast enough.

It might be Quinn's glare that could slice open a soul and rip out the parts dearest to the individual. Understanding people was her specialty. It may be Brittany's nimble movements; you could just tell that with one wrong word, she could dance-ninja your head off. Her dancing is widely known but mostly feared. It was hard to tell how swiftly she could kick you and have you facing the floor. Her warm grin and genuine excitement say otherwise if anyone was brave enough to look up at her face. No one ever really is, though.

But it was usually Santana who whipped the fear in the air. She ensured that no one looked them directly in the eyes without the fear of God reverberating through the bones. It didn't take words to strike fear, although her string of insults usually added icing of terror on the fear cake, topped with a blood red cherry ripped out from the soul of unicorns. She just had a _presence_ that screamed no touching, no speaking, no looking.

Students moved around them with a precarious balance of fear and respect.

The fear/respect balance was off when it was just Quinn and Brittany. Not to say they were any less respected or feared. It just seemed different.

"Do you know where she is?" Quinn glanced over to Brittany as she asked the Cheerio two steps behind her.

"I haven't seen her all day. Maybe she skipped school. She looked so tired yesterday, Q." Brittany's words came out sadly.

Quinn quickly put on a smile for the poor girl. "I'm sure she's fine, Brittany. She probably just wanted an excuse to go shopping." Brittany laughed, accepting this as a viable excuse. No need to weigh them both down with worries.

Quinn glanced around as she and Brittany continued down the hall, the sea of students parting. She needs to find Santana.

_Santana is worried. _

_She is hiding something. _

_She needs someone to talk to._

_What if she's not okay?_

_What if she does something stupid?_

_Or did something stupid?_

Each thought punctures her with a new stab of concern.

As they started down the staircase, Quinn looked out the window overlooking the track. From where she is standing, she can make out how Santana is shoving her toe into the grass. It was always Santana's nervous tell; she would start toeing the ground, burying her toes into soft soil. Her sneakers were always scuffed on the toe end, thanks to it.

"I'll catch you in Glee later, Britt," Quinn nodded. "I'm going to take a quick walk."

Brittany nodded, not even questioning why Quinn wanted to take a walk in the middle of school or miss her next class. Quinn could appreciate that in Brittany; among her many redeeming qualities was Brittany's tendency to take things at face value. It didn't occur to her that someone could be lying, manipulative, or malicious. Quinn, on the other hand, knew exactly how malicious and manipulative people can be. She had the scars of old stabs in the back to prove it. She felt Brittany's arms come around her and pull her into a quick squeeze just before Quinn watched her ponytail bounce away.

As she headed out to the tracks to talk to Santana, it struck her how different Santana and Brittany were. While Brittany overflowed with genuine curiosity and vulnerability with others, Santana built steel walls, guarded by dragons, surrounded by a moat. Suspicion was her best defense and offense. Everyone came with fangs and claws.

Quinn stood in the careful middleground between Santana and Brittany, having learned that neither extreme was good for her. She was aware of how people could be but didn't always act on her suspicions.

She sighed as she pushed open the doors to the tracks. _Now, for breaking down steel walls_.


	5. I: Friendship Norm Deviation

Hey, guys,

Just wanted to quickly explain some things. It's probably either I'm writing a really slow build-up or you're very impatient (both of which are great things, in my opinion!) but I wanted to take a chapter or two to explain the Quintana dynamic here, especially because it doesn't follow too closely with the actual Glee storyline and their relationship is really important. There's a whole different story to Santana's background. There will be Glee cast scenes in here but not too many. Brittana didn't really happen in this (sorry if I lose you for that) except for brief hazing in cheer camp. It's just simpler this way considering the complex backstories I'm writing.

If you really want something to be included, let me know and I'll do my best to incorporate it into the basic storyline I have in my head. I know someone had a suggestion for a great scene and I'm doing my best to put it in. I know this is Superwoman version of Santana but I'm not going to mislead you, she's not from Krypton. I'd love for her to be but unfortunately, I don't know about Superman's background or Kryptonian science/anatomy enough to butcher the history and story of the actual Superman. Plus, it'd be boring for those who specialize in Superman and Kryptonian history :) If you stick with it, you'll see how Santana became who she is. I appreciate any suggestions and your reviews.

Happy reading! Thanks again :)

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**Chapter 5: Friendship Norm Deviations**

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She was so exhausted. Santana had been sprinting all day, running from her place to school and then running on the tracks since school started until whatever time it is now. By the position of the sun, probably sometime past lunch. Eight hours of running, not bad for….whatever she was considered now.

Worse than that, she couldn't sleep again.

Empty houses always freaked her out. When she was younger, she slept with all the lights and TVs on just to fabricate some sort of human presence. Quinn and Brittany used to sleep over until Santana started wanting to go to their houses where their parents would bring late-night snacks and juice in the middle of their sleepovers. Brittany's mom would ask Santana how school is, what is going with her life, and always, always if she wanted to stay for dinner because they would _love_ to have her. Quinn's mom would never fail to thank Santana for being her friend and sticking by her in Cheerios.

But her house was okay, she supposes. It was any other high schoolers' dream to have a large house, empty of parents. Her parents worked late. The lead District Attorney of the economic crimes division of a mother and a renowned neurosurgeon of a father didn't make the most available parents, even though it did leave her with an abundance of allowance money, an empty house (closer to a mansion, actually), and people who never appear but somehow they manage to restock the fridge, clean the houses, and maintain an elaborate front lawn and backyard. It was always empty, though, and well, she never could sleep well alone.

On top of that, she's morphing into some sort of abnormal being. She can't claim to be like any other high schooler anymore. So no, she hadn't slept in awhile.

Being tired wasn't from running all day and not sleeping at all though. She didn't even break a sweat all day. All the fear of being different just drained her of any enthusiasm for her life. It seemed the sun only rose today to humiliate her.

"What are you doing out here, S?" Quinn muttered under her breath, strutting towards Santana with eyes set on the girl on the other side of the tracks. Her Cheerio skirt flared as her legs carried Quinn swiftly.

Santana's head snapped to Quinn, her ears picking out Quinn's question from where she was standing. She wasn't even near Santana; Quinn was too far away to sound like she was saying two feet in front of her, although that's the way it came across. Tears gathered under her dark lashes, feeling the concern humming the air around Quinn. She _cared_, giving Santana unfamiliar fuzzy feelings and warmth in her diaphragm.

Quinn had no sooner reached the other end of the track when Santana collides into her arms. A sharp inhale escaped from somewhere above Santana's head as the Latina wrapped her tan arms around Quinn's slim waist. The sun had been shining brightly all day but Santana's skin was still cold to the touch. Quinn squeezed gently and supported Santana up, who is sinking deeper into her arms. Santana's eyes squeeze shut, taking comfort in this moment, this embrace, and her tears slip out the corners of her eyes. Quinn hums her sympathy, the shorter girl weighing down with exhaustion. Her hands plant firmly on Santana's shoulders as she pushes Santana back and straightens up the girl, hazel eyes searching for an explanation somewhere on her face.

"Hey, hey," Quinn murmured. "What's wrong?"

Light grey tracked down Santana's cheeks, her mascara mixing into her tears. Quinn was taken aback by the sight of Santana crying, a girl who put a façade so strong and confident that football jocks trembled in her presence. She was letting Quinn see that she wasn't that girl.

"I think something's wrong with me, Q."

The sentence quietly floated in the space between them, Quinn hesitating to think just for a second on how to approach this new Santana. The wrong move, the wrong word can have her reeling back into isolation. With brave decisiveness, her arms snaked around Santana's slight frame, pulling their hips to press against each other while holding a steady gaze.

"Do you want to go?"

Santana nods.

"You look like you need a naa~aap," Quinn's words sang out softly and teasingly, her eyes still locked on Santana's face. A small smile spreads across the tired girl's face. She feels a light tap under her chin. Quinn uses one hand to take a finger under Santana's chin, pushing her face to look at hers. With hips still pressed, Quinn's other hand slides down Santana's arm before lacing their fingers together. Porcelain fingers weaved into caramel fingers, their hands fitting perfectly into each other's empty spaces.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

Sometime in the two minutes between climbing into the car and turning the engine on, Santana felt the overwhelming weight of sleep pulling her into a near-coma. The warm black leather cushions were comfortable enough, pressing heat against Santana's cold skin, cold from running all day, from being scared. Being faster, stronger, smarter is one thing; trying to hold the fear of changing inside sucked the warmth out of her soul and left behind icy skin, headache, and a bad case of insomnia.

Quinn turned on the engine and looked over the small girl, curled up in the passenger seat. Santana's hair cascaded black waterfalls around her. Quinn could see Santana's eyes dance around under eye lids, thin as grape skin. The phrase "fighting demons" crossed Quinn's mind as she watched Santana battle something alone, grappling with whatever has been on her mind. She looked younger when she was scared, her Cheerio letterman scrunched up around her shoulders.

_Where do we go?_ Quinn sat with the engine running as she watched Santana struggle to find some sort of solution in her sleep.

She pulled out from the parking spot and just drove, windows half-way down to welcome a warm breeze. The car looped twice around the small town of Lima, the edges of the town having mostly scenic drives with meadows and rivers pressing up against the city borders. They used to drive like this when Cheerio practice became too overwhelming. They had chilled coconut water in a cooler (at least, they weren't drink and driving) and belted out to girly songs. Britney Spears had been a particular favorite in their care-free days. Though she was content to just keep driving, the sunset threw pink and orange streaks across the sky in front of her and Quinn resigned to driving Santana home, entering the district where Santana lived. There was no gate but none was necessary to let the town know who was welcome in this area. Quinn was still perplexed by how quickly Santana's life had changed; one childhood ago, the Lopez family was drowning in debt, buried under a lawyer's and a doctor's student loans. Now, they were finally reaping the financial benefits of those educations, swapping what would have been a warm and fuzzy childhood for a large house with a circle drive and invisible caretakers. She pulled into the driveway, parking right in front of the front pathway.

"Santana," Quinn said softly, shaking the girl's left shoulder. "Sweetie, let's go in."

Santana groaned, flipping over to face the window.

_I think something's wrong with me, Q._

Her sadly-spoken words echoed in the cathedral of Quinn's mind. What could be wrong with Santana? Nothing, nothing at all. Nothing is wrong with the girl, for as long as Quinn had known her. She may be a little rough around the edges, sharp with her tongue, constantly filled with something between anger and irritation; that made her unique and special, someone worth knowing and acknowledging. Santana knew how to be a good friend to those she cared about. It was just that not too many people had the privilege of being cared for by Santana Lopez. In the third grade, when a boy made fun of Quinn's backpack, Santana overheard from behind him. She walked up to him, silently looked up and down before swinging her arm. He came with a black eye, signaling to every other kid not to mess with Santana Lopez or her friend, Quinn. When James Stewart cheated on Quinn, not only she made sure he remained at a permanent leper social status but Santana was waiting on her front porch that day, chin on her hand, with a cardboard box marked "Emergency Supplies" sitting beside her. Through red swollen eyes, she saw Santana come towards her before pulling her into a hug. Quinn cried in the street, her arms and sadness tucked inside Santana's embrace. Santana's "Emergency Supplies" consisted of two boxes of Godiva chocolate, the dvd copies of The Phantom of the Opera and Lord of the Rings trilogy, a Kleenex, and a giraffe pillowpet. Jack the Giraffe has occupied a corner of the bed ever since. Quinn never questioned Santana's commitment just like Santana never questioned Quinn's. _Nothing_ is wrong with Santana.

Quinn stepped out of the car and came around to the other side of the car, pulled Santana's left arm over her shoulder, arm grasping tightly on her waist, and half-carried her in with Santana's backpack looped over her shoulder. In these moments that no one should know about, Quinn was, at least at that moment, grateful that Santana lived such an isolated life; no one will walk in. She rifled through Santana's backpack before her hand hit a chunk of metal.

"Ow!" Quinn yanked her hand out and peered in; something like a door handle with a jagged metal edge sat in her bag. A small trail of blood trickled across her hand.

Santana leaned heavily and Quinn remembered what she was looking for as she shifted Santana's weight. She quickly found the keys in the front pocket of her Jansport backpack, shoving the mahogany French doors open. In the large circular living room sat two wide half-circle white sofas, facing each other to create a near perfect circle. A square burgundy blanket draped the middle of each sofa. She laid Santana gingerly down, the tan body molding into the curve of the sofa immediately. Quinn sat by Santana's legs, letting Santana's body create a curve around her. One hand brushed the hair away from Santana's face before Quinn's lips pressed firmly into her temple. Quinn stood up to leave. A vice grip latched on her wrist. Quinn looked back to see Santana's hand holding onto her, her black hair flowing off the sofa, head half-buried in the sofa.

A muffled "please stay" came out of Santana's husky unused voice.

Quinn nodded and formed herself to fit Santana's curved position, hands over hands, Santana's warm thighs pressed up against the back of Quinn's legs. She reached overhead to grab the burgundy blanket and covered their legs. With Santana's soft breath brushing against her spine, they fell asleep knowing that no one would invade their warm private world inside the perfect and cold mansion.


	6. I: Unexpected Jasmine Factor

Warning: This may be triggering! It's really about testing limits and unfortunately, that's always a little gory. Please please please don't read this thoroughly if you are triggered by self-harm, etc. and you're welcome to PM me if you want/need to talk.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Unexpected Jasmine Factor**

* * *

The light scent of jasmine wafted somewhere near her, confusing her. Where was she? The house never smelled like this. Something soft tickled her face and she had her arms wrapped around something warm. She felt it slowly rising and falling with deep breaths. When she no longer could fight the inevitable pain of waking up, Santana opened her eyes to sunkissed blonde locks of hair. No wonder she was smelling jasmine; her body closely framed Quinn's, legs pressing against each other. Her arms draped lightly across Quinn's waist, the sleeping girl's breath rising and falling. For a moment, she enjoyed the proximity. Quinn's comfort and ease at sleep was peaceful to watch.

With one hand gingerly pressing in the back of the sofa, she pushed herself above and hopped over the back of the sofa. Her feet hovered for a moment above the ground and her barefeet made no sounds as they slowly descended to meet the hardwood floor, cold to the touch. The smell of jasmine lingered as she turned her back to the blonde, obscuring her thoughts and keeping her from even noticing the suspended moment. She sauntered off to the kitchen, in search of something to eat.

* * *

Quinn's backside felt bare and cold. She reached one hand behind her and searched for Santana's warm body, grasping at air where her body should have been hugging Quinn's.

_Clank_.

Quinn jerked up at the sound. Fireworks flooded her vision as her head spun from rushing up too early. _A hangover from a nap. That's new._

As the room slowly stopped spinning, she stood up, shedding off the weight of sleep. The loud clanking came from the kitchen. Quinn found Santana's back facing her. Santana slowly turned, eyes fixed on something in her hands, still unaware of the blonde girl standing behind her. She seemed to be making a decision.

Quinn's eyes widened, hazel and green eyes following the Latina's gaze, scaling from the Latina's face to her bare shoulders and delicate collarbones down to what was in her hands. Santana's slim hands were gripping onto two chef knives, one in each hand. Each knife was as long as her forearm, entirely metal, not even a wooden handle. Quinn took one step slowly, carefully, towards her, not wanting any sudden movement to scare her.

"Hey, woah," Quinn let her words escape from her quietly. "What – what are you doing?"

"Huh?" Santana looked up and found a half-worried, half-scared expression on Quinn's otherwise flawless face. Somehow, she made worried and scared look good, though it didn't compare to the variations of Quinn's smiling faces. _What's up with the look?_ Santana looked back down at her hands, up at Quinn's expression, and connected the dots. "No! I wasn't– it's not– "

She set down the knives onto the counter quickly, the metal of the handle clanking loudly at the contact of the marble countertop. "I just wanted to make some food. You hungry?"

Quinn eyed the knives warily. "Let's just order a pizza, yes?"

Santana nodded but the thought of knives resigned, for the moment, to the back of her mind.

* * *

Quinn sat cross-legged on top of the black marble island counter, laughing as she tried to break the cheese stretching from the pizza to her mouth. Santana giggled at the sight. They never bothered with the stools around the island counter; they sat on top of it, legs swinging over the edge. Small rings of water gathered where their glasses of iced half-lemonade, half-iced tea sat. Santana's laptop sat closely by, opened to performances on YouTube.

"No—no— his—it's his face expression," Santana could hardly say the words between snorting with laughter and the pizza still in her mouth. They watched Susan Boyle's performance of "I Dreamed a Dream" on Britain's Got Talent and laughed every time the bitchy judge's jaw dropped opened, getting them each time they watched it. Both were too proud to admit that they were overwhelmed with awe, though, when Boyle's clear voice rings out in her perfect pitch.

Quinn laughed loudly with cheese strung the pizza in her hands. The sight of Quinn struggling to disconnect the pizza gave Santana a lighter impression of who she was. Quinn was always so serious at school. Serious about class, serious about Glee, serious about reputation. It's like her eyes were set on a permanent glare, threatening to push down anything in her way. She was a silent force of nature made of invisible steel. She'd never admit it out loud but Santana admired her tenacity. But here, in the privacy of her empty house, Quinn allowed herself to be silly and loud.

There was still an elephant in the room they didn't want to mention. _I think something's wrong with me, Q_ reverberated off the walls, bouncing around their laughter. A big, stinking, neon-pink elephant that silently loomed overhead until Quinn decided to point it out.

"So you want to talk about it?"

Santana's smile faded and her eyes casted down. "S?"

"I just—I was just getting tired. You know, parents are gone for awhile." Quinn's face softened at the words. "I just haven't been sleeping enough."

Santana rubbed the side of the index finger along her lips as she did when she was nervous or lying. Well, in this case, both since she was nervous about sharing this side of her with Quinn, just imagining Quinn's expression of surprise and possible fear, and lying about what was on her mind. Quinn didn't want to be the one to force Santana into the open, call her on her lie. She knew, though, when Santana was ready, Quinn would be the first to know. It was in the unwritten laws of their inexplicable friendship. Rule #1: She is your person. You are her person.

"I just meant for duets. I just meant did you have an idea for a song?" Quinn coughed, waving away the awkward air. Santana reeled herself back into the moment and actually thought about it.

"Mmmm… I want something that'll catch their attention." Santana said thoughtfully, lightly drumming her index and middle fingers against her lower lip as she pondered "You know, sexy. Sassy. Pretty much us in the form of a song." She winked flirtatiously. Quinn smiled, relieved to find a bit of flame in Santana again.

* * *

Santana waved as she watched Quinn's car pull out of the driveway. Quinn turned around, once to make sure that Santana's face wasn't drawn with worry as she pulled away. Quinn couldn't push her when she was like this but the empty house, looming over her didn't help assuage her worries over the girl.

Quinn thought she saw a flicker of sadness on her face as Santana turned away. She didn't want to go but Santana needed the space to think. Both girls had to battle their worst traits in each other's presence: Santana struggling to let someone past her walls and Quinn letting the girl take her time. If it had been her way, Quinn would have camped out on the damned lawn for Santana. Anything Quinn ever let go had her claw marks before it finally slipped away and she'll be damned if she let Santana go.

Santana returned to the kitchen, the pizza box all tucked into the recycling bin and the glasses set on in the dish rack. The knives that she gripped earlier still sat on the countertops. _Limits_ ran across her mind as she looked at the knives. When she woke up from her nap, she was hungry for the first time in days. There was a tub of watermelon, apples, cantaloupes freshly cut and packed into the fridge that morning. She came hunting for those fruits, placed them on the countertop and fished out a fork. Forks sat next to the spoons, next to butter knives, right by the top-grade chef knives, sharpened to slice open anything from watermelons to frozen meat to probably even rocks. These were the kinds of knives you wanted if you were thrown into an island with only one other thing, and it couldn't be an iPod.

She lightly placed a hand on the knife before deciding to pick it up, the metal made a _ziiiing_ as she dragged the blade across the counter. Cool in her palm, deceivingly heavy, she balanced it carefully, examining it from all angles. In one moment, she exhaled her fear, placed it on her fingertip and pressed down. It burned a clean line of fire as she gasped at the pain. Small beads of ruby-red gathered at the edge, coming to a drip. But just as quickly, the veins, the tissue, and muscle wove back together, leaving no trace of having ever been cut. _What…the fuck? _She held her hand up in the light, looking for any sign that she was injured. Her hands flipped back and forth in her disbelief. There was nothing, no scar, no cut.

She traced the knife back and took a breath before she slowly slit open each of her fingertips more deeply than before. She stared at the sight, captivated by the process. The skin stitched back together, each ridge of the swirls and lines on the fingerpad found each other to form whole fingerprints again.

_I am a hoverpad. A limitless Wikipedia. A roadrunner without a real speedometer. And now, practically a regenerating lizard. What next? Sprout wings? What the fuck? _

She cleaned the blade, using the soft sponge to wash away the blood. Placing it back in its place among the other knives and utensils, she turned away, walked from kitchen and headed to her room upstairs.

_I wonder how that would look on a resume_. Only Santana could sarcastically joke about something like this, even when she was alone.

Fingers skimmed the dark mahogany wood railings, coming to a stop at the top where hardwood floor met a plush white carpet. Her room was at the end of the hallway, having a full south view over the lawn. She could watch the sun rise in the east and set in the west. She had her room specifically redesigned for to capture as much warmth. High windows stretched across one wall, ceiling to floor, with dark red drapes. Her bed sat against the opposite wall facing the windows with freshly pressed white sheets and shades of gold and red blankets everyday. Colors alternated every week from red and gold to green and silver. Make fun all you want but Harry Potter and the Hogwarts houses wasn't really on her mind when she came up with the color schemes. Santana liked rich, bold colors. These were vibrant without being overwhelming. Drapes were definitely dark enough to keep out the sun when she had a kicking hangover, at least, making night an endless time span when she felt like it.

She flopped onto her bed, sinking into the comfort.

_That's what this week was_, Santana decided. _One long drawn out hangover_.

_At least Quinn would helped me forget. _She fell asleep, wishing that she asked Quinn to stay.

* * *

For the next few days, Santana wasn't anywhere, no matter how much Quinn willed her to be just around the corner, in the back class, in the locker room, anywhere close but just unseen. She missed the fiery Latina. No one used as many "fucks" and "shits" in a sentence. No one snapped her fingers and silenced the crowds. Who else could put down Karofsky with one look? The most unusual thing, though, is that despite her absence, Santana seemed to still everywhere. Students craned their neck for a third figure trailing by Brittany and Quinn when they came through the hallway. Teachers gave her all of Santana's graded papers back, asking her to give it to Santana who seemed to be sick. Perfect grades marked across the top. She showed up for Cheerio practice but disappeared right after. The one bit of real Santana she had seen was when Laura accidentally fell on her after a group pyramid. She shoved her and snapped, "Watch it!" Even in practice, as she was holding up Quinn by her feet, Santana seemed distant and distracted. Every day in Glee that Santana wasn't there, everyone gathered with their partner to discuss what duet to sing but she sat alone, feeling how much of her life was filled with Santana now that she was gone.

Brittany constantly had a frown; Santana's absence truly felt by her best friend. Her grades slipped a little because Quinn wasn't as patient with her as Santana was when tutoring her. When someone accidentally looked at Brittany up and down, mentally undressing her, no one smacked him in the face like Santana would. Quinn ripped his soul open with her eyes and the student body slowly but surely began shunning him but Santana would have left physical evidence of his demoted status.

Quinn missed her, too. More than Brittany missed her. Having Santana was like having a Rottweiler, a best friend who is loyal and fierce. A warm fur coat for cuddling and fangs to ward off anyone who came to even _thinking_ about hurting her friends.

* * *

On nights like tonight, Quinn liked to go for a jog. She slipped on her Asics, tied the laces, and grabbed a bottle of water before leaving. Her feet began to pick up as her pace quickened. When a steady pace settled in, she began running along the side of the road that headed to the water tower that sat right outside the town.

When they were younger, she, Brittany, and Santana used to race to the water tower, "**LIMA, OHIO**" printed boldly across the metal walls. Now, it was a little faded. Once they finally reached the ladder, Santana was always first to climb, her arms strengthening with each rung she climbed. Brittany climbed the fastest, though, climbing on the other side of the ladder. Santana and Brittany raced to the top, scaling up on both sides of the ladder. Quinn climbed more slowly, enjoying each moment of the climb, from the burning in her arms thanks to climbing to the burning in her legs from the running. Warm breezes made blonde waves of hair spin around her as she rose up to where she heard Santana and Brittany panting for breath. They would spend summer nights there, sitting with their legs swinging over the edge of the platform. They'd talk about what high school would be like, what college would be like, what the rest of the lives may in store for them. When Santana was stressed, Quinn would find her up here. It was where she first caught Santana smoking a cigarette. Where Santana came when her parents left her alone too much, something about seeing a whole town and its lights made her feel like there were real homes out there. The night skies littered with burning lights trying to reach her from billions of miles away made her problems seem insignificant.

Quinn reached the water tower, not even panting. This run seemed shorter, easier now that she was older with longer legs and better strides. When she looked up, she saw someone leaning dangerously over the rail, looking up at the sky like they were about to swan-dive into a pool. Someone in a Cheerio uniform.

* * *

Her Cheerio skirt flapped in the wind, stronger up here in the rails of the water tower. She was here, everyday after Cheerio practice, watching the sun set from up here. In mornings, she ran and she ran far away from Lima. She found herself at the Grand Canyon some hours, looking at empty spaces and hollows in the earth. Other hours, she was in New York, in the middle of Time square, surrounded by people. She mostly ran with disbelief of how far and fast she was running. But always at night, she returned here at the water tower, comforted by the familiar direction towards the water tower.

Six nights. She's been here six nights in a row, starting right after Quinn hung out at her house and she discovered she was a regenerating lizard of some sorts, stitching the broken pieces of herself back together. She never told Quinn how much these heights scared her. She raced up here to get off the ladder as quickly as possible, Brittany and Quinn thinking that it was just Santana being daring and reckless. It terrified her, how far away the ground seemed, how cold the air was up here. That first night, she leaned on the railing, watching the sunset and the lights of Lima slowly twinkle on. In one swift movement, her heart began to pump faster with fear and adrenaline coursing as she swung her legs over and leaned forward as much as possible, her hands barely holding onto the railing. She leaned further forward, letting her pinky go. One finger at a time, she let go until she was barely holding onto the railing with her index fingers. With one glance up and a silent and brief prayer to God to let Quinn and Brittany know how thankful she was to have a substitute family in case the next moment didn't go as planned, she let go and dove headfirst into the ground.

A sickening crunch met the ground. _Do I hover or heal?_ That was the question, not that either answer made the notion of being a freak any easier. It seemed that night, she healed. Her neck turned itself, small cracks echoing in her ears. Her ribs realigned itself, her spine straightened. Bones popped and cracked quietly, shifting under the skin to adjust themselves. The skin scraped away by the ground below grew itself again, the grass giving no relief to the impact. Rocks were pushed out by the skin that sewed itself back up. Punctures by the branches closed up. It had hurt like hell but she didn't die. In fact, by the looks of it, she was pretty good to go for a second try. Not wanting to push it that night, and also considering the moist dirt and grass stains on her Cheerio uniform, she jogged back to her house, running those last few miles to her house in a couple seconds. Well, someone would have to dry-clean her uniform before morning, right?

The next night, she willed herself not to hit the ground as the wind whistled past her. She hovered for a moment, her face stopping an inch away from the ground. The damp wet grass brushed her face in the second she floated above it. The scent of grass and soil lingered in her face as she lowered softly onto the ground, straining to keep floating as long as possible.

The night after that, she hovered for minutes, coming to a stop inches off the ground. For a few glorious minutes, the toetips of her shoes lightly grazed the ground.

Each night, she stayed afloat longer and higher. It was tiring, like she had been running sprints in the air, but she struggled to push against the invisible wall of her limits. Hovering (a step away from flying) demanded she focus, understand and feel the sensations of being mid-air. She built up a wall of concentration that bolstered her in the night sky.

Last night, she let go but didn't fall even a foot. She just floated, where she was, feeling the breeze rush around her, no strain on her body like her limbs were finally getting used to the idea of flying.

Tonight, she leaned out over the railing the same way, excited to push her limits and terrified to discover what category of "freak" she fell into. Right now, she was somewhere between mystical giant beanstalks and unicorns.

As the night air moved around her, she stretched her body, arching off the railing. She recalled the words she read so many years ago, in some book or another: "All the colors I am inside have not been invented yet."

* * *

Quinn climbed faster at the sight of Santana leaning dangerously over the edge. _Damn it, Santana!_ Unlike all the other nights, she pushed herself up as fast as she could go, rung after rung, ignoring all the burning sensations and weariness. Images of Santana holding knives, falling forward, distant looks mentally flashed as Quinn moved.

_Santana is here, right now._

_Days of missing._

_Unusual distant behavior. _

_Complete disregard for the present._

_Like she had given up. _

_Fuck, I'm pretty sure that was the checkmarked boxes for suicide. _

As soon as "suicide" flitted across her mind, Quinn pulled herself onto the platform and ran to Santana, just as Santana flung herself off the edge.

_Santana!_ The words didn't reach her mouth fast enough to scream out her name. Without a thought, Quinn's hand shot out, seizing the back of Santana's letterman jacket just as Santana flew off.

Santana twisted around with surprise as an unexpected force grabbed onto her jacket, just in time to see Quinn's aghast face. She lost focus of everything; her shoulder seared with pain as her arm popped out of its socket at the startlingly strong jerk backwards, the worst of the pain coming from the aggrieved reaction painted on Quinn's face and the unexpected scent of jasmine as she turned around. She slipped through the open jacket, facing Quinn as her body plummeted down towards the ground in panic.

One horrified voice pierced the night sky. "SANTANAAA!"


	7. I: Mental & Emotional Congruence

Chapter 7: Mental and Emotional Congruence

* * *

The scream didn't even reach her ears. Quinn looked over the railing frantically. A silhouette of a body lay on the floor below, twisted in an indescribable position. Quinn clutched Santana's letterman jacket close to her body and stumbled backwards against the metal walls, sobs and gasps escaping as she desperately drew in for air. She sank down with tears streaming down her face, gasping in and out in disbelief, "San—san—tan—Santana—".

Her fingers pressed against the wooden platform, transparent through the tiny spaces between each plank. Transparent enough to see the still body beneath her, at least.

Quinn's relief was almost palpable when she heard small movement against the grass. It quickly turned to fear as zombie and vampire movies flashed in her mind. Santana's darkened body shifted from one side to another. A muffled groan erupted from below, followed by a series of quiet _crack_s and _pop_s.

* * *

Santana let out a groan with her face pressed against the grass as her bones snapped back together; her shoulder popped back into place. The skin on her rounded cheekbones was scratched away by the rocks and soil. Blood pooled under the skin to form purple and black bruises. Where there was an opening, a cut, a scrape, blood poured out. She stood up as soon as she felt her legs straightening, the rest of her body still trying to repair itself.

_What the hell happened?_

She remembered the horror on Quinn's face clearly but couldn't piece the bits of memory together. Her thoughts came in short bursts.

_Quinn_.

_Is here._

_She saw. _

_What did she see?_

_Is she okay?_

She didn't even considering examining herself, despite having fallen two hundred something feet in panic.

She craned her neck back. Her pupils dilated, taking in more light to make out the figure still on the water tower platform. From the ground, she shot up, a gust of grass and soil blasted away from where she took off. In her panic to get to Quinn as quick as possible, it didn't occur to her that the method of arrival wasn't the most conventional. Whatever Quinn didn't know, she would now.

* * *

Santana floated in front of her.

_She's flying._ Quinn was struck by how _right_ it looked, Santana hovering in front of her with the moonlight creating a glowing sheen around her. She stepped slowly onto the platform, one foot at a time, not wanting to scare Quinn, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. She was golden in the magnanimity. Quinn would have taken a step backward if she wasn't already pressed up against the wall. She stared at the sight of Santana. The white sections of the Cheerio uniform were dark red now, blood seeping through. Where it wasn't red or white was green and brown from the soil and grass, damp with the night chill. Disbelief, fear, awe crashed into Quinn as the gash on Santana's right temple stitched back together. The bruises across her cheeks faded from black to purple to green and yellow before returning back to that soft caramel color of her skin, within seconds.

Quinn dropped her gaze to Santana's left hip, her jaw open at the sight. A thick branch protruded just above Santana's hip bone, jutting out bloodied tips of its splintered end and soaking a darker red into the hem of Cheerio skirt.

Santana followed Quinn's gaze down to her left hip, finding the jagged protrusion. A soft "oh" escaped from Santana's lips. _Well, that's new._ Santana gripped the branch from the front end with both hands. She pressed her lips tightly together, stifling a groan as she yanked hard three times before it jerked out of her. Her body melded itself more quickly now, having practiced healing itself so many times after she first cut her hand. Loose ends of veins connected to each other. Bands, lines, tissue reached across. Her hip bone realigned to parallel the right side, releasing a quiet _pop_ while doing so. The tissue above her pelvic bone grew until the skin could cover the damaged area again with her cinnamon-scented, cinnamon-colored skin. She was still fascinated by the process every time, forgetting Quinn for a moment. They had both watched silently. Santana looked back at Quinn, remembering that the blonde was still in front of her. _That's not exactly how I wanted to tell her. _The blonde was clearly still recovering from what most would call a traumatic experience. It's not everyday you watch your best friend practically die and resurrect. Or fly.

Santana took a small step towards her. "Are you…"

She slowly kneeled before her friend and reached out her hand. Quinn's eyes seemed greener in this light, sparkling with an emerald shade and little specks of gold scattered across. Santana's eyes were dark, her pupils widened to take in all the light available to make out Quinn's face. Her fingers skimmed Quinn's creamy cheek, flushed pink with the cold air and disbelief. Santana traced along her jaw line with her fingers before brushing back strands of blond hair.

"Are you okay, Q?"

Santana's hand fell from Quinn's hair onto her jacket that Quinn still clutched tightly against her chest. She worked Quinn's hands open carefully, pulling the jacket away from Quinn's grip and placing it beside them. Her hands took Quinn's in, carefully massaging them warmly.

Quinn nodded. Without intending to, Quinn's hand pressed against Santana's. _She's alive_. Santana pushed back gently into Quinn's cold hand, confirming Quinn's observation. _So…she's not a ghost_. Well, that threw out her hypothesis. It was a stupid one, anyway. It's not like she was in the right state of mind to be making educated guesses of explanation. She almost smacked her head with her own hand. _Educated guesses? Really, to explain all this?_

"Hey," Santana's voice came out hoarse from being unused for a week, apart from when she snapped at Laura for falling on her in Cheerio practice. Falling and breaking her neck a couple times this week probably didn't help prep her for any opera concerts anytime soon either. Her wish ever since Quinn had hung out at her house a week ago finally found its way into Santana's voice: "Do you want to stay over tonight?"

Curious tension buzzed in the air. She reached out both of her hands and placed them on either side of Quinn's face, lifting her eyes to look carefully into hers. Quinn's cold cheeks warmed in Santana's hands, comforted in the moment. Quinn released a small breath of relief, the faintest scent of jasmine lingering in the air. The blonde's head nodded, searching for an explanation on Santana's face.

"Come on," Santana helped Quinn stand up, pulling her up under her arms. She picked up the letterman jacket and put Quinn's iPod back into her hands. When they got to the ladder, Santana took a quick glance at long climb down before looking at Quinn. A dazed look glazed over the blonde's face. _Damn, she's still too messed up_.

"You trust me?"

Quinn nodded, her vocabulary temporarily rendered disabled by the girl in front of her.

At the opening of the ladder, Santana pulled Quinn close, face-to- face with her arms wrapped tightly around Quinn's waist. Quinn reached her arms around to hug Santana's neck into a close embrace, more for her own comfort than for safety.

"Close your eyes and don't be scared, Q. I got you, too." Santana's whisper tickled her ear. She felt the falling plummet in her stomach as Santana jumped down. Quinn's eyes squeezed shut, waiting for her running shoes to crash into the ground, breaking every bone in her body. It never came.

Instead, the ground slowly reached up to catch them, the grass making a slight cushion as Santana lowered into the ground. The sensation was becoming familiar to Santana but for Quinn, it was a new experience. She peered over Santana's shoulder at the ground. She had indeed landed, all in one piece.

"Let's get out of here," Santana repeated Quinn's words from a few days ago back to her into her ear, still in an embrace. They held on to each other for a moment longer before letting go, both desperately needing each other after being apart for a week. That was like an eternity in terms of their friendship. With their hands holding tightly onto each other, they walked towards Santana's house, each lost in their own mind, walking side by side but not necessarily together.

* * *

Steam filled the upstairs spare bathroom, filling Santana's lungs with thick, warm air. Quinn was in the bathroom in her room, probably filling that room with just as much steam and thoughts. A steady shower of water beat down her back, hot enough to practically scour the thoughts away. She took her time, trying to imagine what she would say to Quinn when she got out. Her mind was wiped blank since she saw Quinn's dazed look.

_That look. What am I going to do?_

She eased off the water and grabbed a towel. A clean set of her usual pajamas lay on the bathroom counter, a white tank with dark grey sweatshorts. As she put on the clothes after drying off, she glanced at the mirror, the white tank making a stark contrast against the smooth caramel tones of her skin. She looked at herself. _Who am I?_

A small grimace appeared on her face as she mentally rephrased the question. _What am I? _

She shrugged off the question and walked back towards her room. She stopped at the doorway, taking in the site. The books that her older brother left behind from last semester at college were open on the bed: calculus, mechanical engineering and linear circuits, 18th century Gothic literature, macroeconomics, and theories on human surveillance and risk. Quinn sat cross-legged on her bed, wearing a complementing set of Santana's pajamas: black tank and dark grey sweatshorts. They looked like a salt-and-pepper set if they stood side by side.

"Brushing up on some light theory, S?" Quinn said teasingly, eyes still fixed on the books in front of her. Santana blushed, a crimson tone fading into her cheeks.

"Okay, okay, stop," Santana said as she reached the bed and gathered up the books. "I was just looking, alright?" Quinn laughed at her embarrassment, finding the inner nerd an adorable side of Santana. _Red is a good shade on you_. She shut her mouth abruptly before the thoughts could escape as words.

Santana hesitated, unsure of where to sit or lie. Unsure of how to start _the_ conversation, how to answer the questions Quinn might have, especially since she didn't have too many answers herself. She leaned against the desk where she set the books. Apprehension radiated off of her body; Quinn could practically see it in the air.

Quinn let out a chuckle, easing the tension in the room. She climbed under the burgundy covers.

"Coming?" She patted her hand on the bedside next to her.

Santana nodded and crossed over to the bed. She climbed into bed with Quinn, the two bodies curved to face each other. Their faces laid only inches apart, breath on breath. Santana couldn't break the steady gaze Quinn directed at her, questions embedded in Quinn's eyes. Quinn wouldn't push her, she knew. For a few minutes, they laid there without moving until Quinn broke the stillness by reaching for the hand by Santana's face. She pulled and held Santana's hand towards her body, a small gesture of reassurance.

_I'll stay awake all night if I have to_, Quinn decided. _I can wait_.

Santana took a deep breath.

Santana started, "A few days ago, in Cheerio practice, we were on the balance beam..."

* * *

"And I came back to the water tower every night ever since. Falling for the first time was terrifying, Q," Santana's voice was getting hoarse from talking for hours. Her eyes stayed fixed on Quinn's lips, unable to meet the piercing emerald eyes. "I didn't know if I would survive or fly or…"

Her gaze trailed upward, expecting to find Quinn asleep. Santana was content just talking. She just needed to say these words, whether or not someone was listening. It was so much bottled up inside of her that talking for these hours helped lift some of that weight sitting on her chest. She needed to put her fear, anxiety, confusion, misunderstanding out into the universe.

But Quinn was more than listening; she was drinking in every word that fell from Santana's lip. She was sharing how Santana felt, feeling what she felt. Watching Santana struggle for the right words, she felt some of her pain. And confusion, she could understand that. Quinn didn't have answers for her, either. The fear etched in Santana's face resonated with Quinn, not to the same degree but of the same quality. Her heart ached for the girl laying close to her. Santana was so close but seemed so far away, like she was reading the words on a teleprompter projected in Quinn's eyes.

"And then you were there," Santana coming to a finish quietly. She hoped that Quinn would say something to make her feel better. At the same time, she hoped that Quinn wouldn't say anything at all.

Quinn looked all over Santana's face, taking all of her in: her words, the thoughts etched in her expressions, the way she couldn't meet Quinn's eyes and slowly worked herself up to her eyes, the waver in her voice. This was the only way to see the most beautiful side of Santana: seeing her risk being cut completely open with her heart sown onto the outside. Quinn wanted to choose her words carefully, musing over the precarious nature of the moment.

"I was so scared, Q," Santana spilled delicately, the gravity of Quinn's presence pulling these thoughts all out, even all the ones she didn't recognize existed until she said it aloud. "I don't even know how to talk about something I don't understand."

"What would you call it," Quinn asked quietly.

Santana felt herself feeling the uneven coarseness of sitting alone at rock bottom. "My own private freak show."

Quinn looked earnestly into her eyes. The ocean of calm in Quinn transcended across their touching limbs, Santana's breathing becoming deeper.

Without knowing exactly what to say, Quinn shifted closer to Santana. The fronts of their bodies were millimeters apart, the heat from their bodies amplifying exponentially as legs, hips, chests sat closer, _almost_ touching. Their hands sat intertwined in the little space between them.

Quinn leaned towards her, cinnamon and jasmine mixing in the air.

And her lips met Santana's.

Everything fell silent and muted, even to Santana's heightened senses. Both of their eyes widened, Quinn taken aback by her own response and Santana by the feel of Quinn on her lips. Quinn gently pushed forward, pressing Santana onto her back and Quinn up onto her forearms, framing Santana's shoulders.

Santana felt her lips slowly smile against Quinn's lips.

Quinn pulled away with an inhale, watching Santana open her eyes, casted at the ceiling. She placed her lips firmly but gently onto Santana's forehead before she shifted back onto her side, facing Santana. Santana turned towards her, holding her hand. She felt exhausted, having emptied her mind of her thoughts. Her eyes started to close with an echo of a smile still on her face. She wasn't alone at rock bottom but lying here next to her best friend, finally reaching the same place of understanding and not understanding what's happening to Santana.

Santana couldn't tell if she mumbled her response or thought it, already half-asleep: "Thank you." It came out as quiet as the exhale of Santana's breath, but Quinn felt the gravity of the two words.

With her body slowly succumbing to the heavy pull of sleep, Santana felt a little spark of reassurance and hope about the next day for the first time in weeks. _This feels right_.

* * *

Thanks for your kind reviews (and helping me catch mistakes)! Really, there was one posted recently that seriously just helped motivate me to finish this chapter so quickly. It's always really great to hear from you guys. Please let me know what you think. Happy reading!


	8. I: Musical Confession Aftermath

Chapter 8: Musical Confession Aftermath

* * *

No matter how good the sleep, Santana still couldn't manage to sleep more than a few hours, two or three hours a night. Thankfully, her body was adjusting to this change, needing only those few hours to recharge. When she woke up, it was only five in the morning. She slept a whopping...hour and twenty-six minutes. Quinn was still fast asleep, her deep breaths slowly pushing and pulling her hair. Not wanting to wake her, Santana sat there, facing the unlit sky through her high windows over the next hour, changing from twilight black to orange and pink before settling into a fresh blue day. The sunlight was slowly inching into the world when Santana swung her legs and got up.

Even though she spent a good hour showering and brushing her teeth and getting into perfect condition, she stayed in comfy clothes, liking how her clothes complemented Quinn.

Her mind was wandering, occasionally replaying the kiss in her mind, dragging her body to wander the house. Her bare feet came to a stop. She had reached the empty ballroom. Even now, it was strange to her that her house was large enough to have a ballroom. _Who even hosts balls anymore?_ No one even lived here but Santana (basically). It was really good for throwing parties but not too often. She couldn't stand the mess after, even though she was never the one who cleaned it. Still, it was her house.

Overtime, she found herself coming into this room more and more, especially after she joined Glee. The vastness and round shape of the room lent a beautiful acoustic quality to her voice. Santana had the room redesigned, now half of the circular mostly glass windows. If people were going to look in, she had better be able to look back out at them. In the morning, the room was bright, light bouncing off the clean mirrors that took up the sides of the room that weren't windows. In the evening, long shadows were casted. Brittany liked dancing in the room because she said the shadows made her feel like a company of dancers were moving with her. Santana even slept in here a few times, dragging in a mattress. Santana felt less alone since she started to see it that way. As she spent more time in here, a band of instruments took up a space right by the windows, next to a red loveseat that she had put in.

She picked up the guitar, strumming a chord. Since her ears sharpened, she could pick out the perfect pitch, perfect tone for the songs. It made playing the guitar immensely easier. A hum filled the room as Santana thought about the day she had ahead of her.

* * *

She thought she heard humming somewhere, distant in her dream.

_Coffee_. Quinn's first conscious thought was _it smells like coffee_.

Her vision was peach and red, the sunlight shining through her thin eyelids. The bittersweet aroma of coffee was in front of her, strong and jolting. Rubbing her eyes, Quinn slowly peeked through her fingers to find a white mug floating in front of her. _What the hell!_

Quinn jumped and frantically scrambled backwards, hitting her head on the headboard.

Santana laughed. Quinn rubbed the back of her head, glaring at the dark-haired girl, hunched over with laughter, in front of her. It was much too early to be laughing. Too much sunlight, too much noise.

"Not. Funny." Quinn groaned, a headache starting to beat a steady rhythm of pain in the back of her head.

"It was pretty funny. Here's your coffee," Santana sat at Quinn's feet near the edge of the bed, carefully to keep a distance while Quinn reached forward with both hands. "Black with three sugar cubes, warm, not hot, right?" She grinned, holding her own mug close to her body.

"Ugh, coffee." The warm liquid soothed her throat. Quinn felt herself waking up. "Ugh, thanks. I feel almost human."

Santana grimaced something like a laugh without any humor or mirth. "Yeah, me, too."

Quinn paused, sipping as she swung her legs over to the side of the bed. She straightened her legs, coming to stand by Santana. She took another sip before she turned to kiss Santana's forehead, firmly.

"You're perfect."

She stalked off towards the bathroom as she called out, "Hey, do you have a spare uniform?"

Santana, still caught in Quinn's words and generosity, nodded, forgetting Quinn couldn't see her anymore.

* * *

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Schue," Rachel interrupted before Schue even managed to clap his hands together for their attention, hand shooting up in the air. Eyes rolled all around the classroom as Schue sighed.

"Yes, Rachel?"

She marched up to the front of the classroom, whirling around when she reached a spot smack in front of everyone.

"With our competition as fierce as they are and the competition quickly approaching," Rachel continued, her chin slightly tilted up. She looked pointedly at Santana. "I really think we need to not be missing any practices. Our rehearsals are crucial to our success and there really is no excuse for absence, tardiness, or distractions."

Santana rolled her eyes. If she ever needed a welcome back, she noted not to, under any circumstances, put Berry in charge.

Brittany squealed when she saw Santana waiting for her by the front steps of the school. Santana was half standing when the excited blonde collided into her, jumping into her arms and wrapping her long legs around Santana's waist. Their sheer difference in height made it looked comical from a distance, a short Latina girl wrapped up by a tall blonde dancer. Even Puck came around, eyeing her up and down, winking as he reached out one arm to roughly pull her in and ruffle her hair with the other. "Puckerman!" Santana had exclaimed, half-scowling and half-laughing at his greeting. Brittany punched Puck in the arm, defending Santana but still laughing at the sight of Santana's hair. Quinn smiled at the sight of Santana at ease for the first time in a long while. She could hardly see the secret looming over Santana when the Latina was laughing. The school went smoothly, classes still a breeze. It was a good day, until she heard the shrill, demanding voice of one short diva, at least.

"Listen, _Berry_," Santana spat out, venom flooding each punctuated word. "You may need the extra practice but I'm fine, thanks very much."

Santana turned to the rest of the class. "I was just sick for a bit but I'm back." A glare silenced the class. She almost smiled in Quinn's direction, watching the blonde narrow her eyes at Rachel. Rachel hesitatingly sat down.

"Anyway, I know I missed most of the duets assignment." Something like an apologetic tone, unfamiliar in the harshness of Santana's school voice, hovered. It was the closest thing to an actual apology that the Glee club would get from them. "I didn't have a chance to sing with Quinn or prepare a duet but I'm gonna sign anyway."

Without really asking their permission, Santana picked up a stool and came to the front. She placed it decisively before walking to the back to pick up a guitar. Mercedes and Tina looked at each other, surprised. Finn's eyes widened a little. Schue and Artie had raised eyebrows, as if to ask each other, _Did you know she played the guitar?_

Brittany smiled, never ceased to be amazed by her friend.

"T-take it away, Santana," Schue stammered, moving over to sit with the kids.

A chorus of _whoooo_ and _yeah, baby_ came from the Glee members, Brittany and Puck being the loudest, but Santana only thought of Quinn, her ears picking out only Quinn's inhales and exhales.

Her fingers sat lightly on the guitar, one hand feeling each ring along a metal string, the other brushing the polished wood. She exhaled her nervousness, a feeling unfamiliar to her, as she began to strum. The room slowly became her ballroom in her mind, easing all the fear she felt in the moment, most of it not even having to deal with her, ahem, "situation". The strum resonated deeply in each listener, everyone leaning just a little bit forward in their seats.

_The perfect words never crossed my mind,_

'_Cause there was nothing in there but you._

Quinn felt her heart pumping in her ears. The melody was familiar, like she heard in a dream a long time ago. If anyone else had sung it, it would have sounded like pining but Santana's sultry voice lent a sad quality.

_I felt every ounce of me screaming out,_

_But the sound was strapped deep in me._

_All I wanted just sped right past me, _

_While I was rooted fast to the earth._

A thin film of tears touch Quinn's lashes, making her eyes sparkle.

_I could be stuck here for a thousand years,_

_Without your arms to drag me out._

_There you are standing in front of me,_

_All this fear falls away to leave me naked,_

_Hold me close, _

'_Cause I need you to guide me to safety._

Santana let a quiet chord play out while she took a moment to look up at her friend. Quinn felt the song sung directly at her, the world disappearing except for the two of them. They were both caught in a moment intimate as the conversation they had last night.

_In the confusion and the aftermath,_

_You are my signal fire._

_The only resolution and the only joy_

_Is the fair spark of forgiveness in your eyes._

She had changed the words in the end of the chorus, hating what it said before "No, I won't wait forever."

_Oh, I will wait forever,_

_I will wait forever,_

_For you. _

A new kind silence settled in as her finger plucked the last string, sitting in the awe of the group. Slow clapping came from the back: Puck was standing, his large hands beating against each other. Others quickly snapped out of the moment that was just as intimate for them, jumping up to hug Santana. All but Berry, of course, but even she offered a weak smile of admiration.

Santana looked at Quinn, the one whose opinion mattered, standing in the back of the crowd. They took a step towards each other; Quinn opened her mouth to say—

"Great job, Santana!" Schue exclaimed, breaking the moment. "That's what I'm talking about, you guys. You have to reach _deep_. You need to _strike_ audience." He swung his hand down to make the point. "Everybody, sit down. Let's…"

His voice faded to a far off distance as Santana settled into a seat in the middle row, regret already starting to kick in.

* * *

"Hello?" Quinn called out in front of the Lopez home. "Santana?"

She rang the doorbell a few times but got no answer. _Damn it, girl. Where are you?_ She stamped her feet, trying to warm up. It was quickly getting cold, standing out here in the wind. This night weather is usually her favorite to run in since she could work up a sweat but it was just irritating when she was impatiently waiting for someone.

Santana bolted after Glee club, hardly letting Quinn even open her mouth to call out her name before she was gone. Quinn finally had a glimpse of how fast Santana could run. Quinn faced hell from Coach Sylvester for having a Cheerio missing from practice but the whole time that the shrewd was spitting in her face, she could only wonder where Santana was. She didn't get to thank Santana; Berry had immediately thrown them in a song-and-dance rehearsal.

She wrapped her red petticoat tightly around her as she sat down on her front steps. If she knew Santana, she was probably somewhere regretting looking human in front of Glee club. It doesn't make sense to stand waiting and it seemed like it was going to be a long wait.

* * *

Hey, guys,

Coming up: a discovery of bits and pieces from Santana's past.

Let me know what you think. Review, PM, etc.!


	9. I: Bewilderment Amplification

**Chapter 9: Bewilderment Amplification**

* * *

Forty minutes ago, she wanted grab the version of herself that sang in Glee and smack the shit out of her.

But then again, forty minutes ago, she was still somewhere in Ohio. Right now, she sat on the beach, facing the sun setting on California, water lapping on her toes. Her shoes and socks sat in a neat pile beside her. The sign said Pacific Beach, San Diego, in sunny letters and waves. Small figures sat out in the ocean, sitting on their surfboards and paddleboards, waiting for the waves. The setting sun threw pink and orange against the clear blue sky, like someone took a paintbrush and painted careful, radiant streaks. The ocean air was fresh and salty, clean in her lungs. The sand was warm under her legs and somewhere, she could hear a radio playing. _Thank God I changed out of my uniform_, she smiled at the thought of how strange she'd look if she hadn't shoved her uniform into her locker before bolting and changed into running shorts and a sports bra. Her, in a red William McKinley uniform on the beach. Looking around, it seemed like everyone was dressed like her right now: sporty, tan, fast, in bikinis and sports gear. Except they looked happy, genuinely happy. Or really really really high on endorphins, by the look of how full of life this place seemed. Even in the sunset, the beach was buzzing with activity.

She stretched her legs out in front of her, taking one last stretch before getting up. Her toes scrunched, feeling the sand squish underneath. Brushing off the sand with one hand, she put her socks and shoes back on. With her back to the sunset, she picked up her feet into a slow pace. Well, slow for her, at least. She glanced back, just for a moment, to take the mental snapshot of a sun setting on the ocean, the sea glittering like millions of diamonds under the sun's brilliance, before she settled into a solid pace, her breath moving in synchrony.

For as long as she could remember, the best way Santana could settle her thoughts was to run. Among the many things she could do now, it was still running that calmed her down. Miles stretched out in front of her, the endless pounding on the road steady as a metronome. Sometimes, it felt like she was running to some sort of solution to whatever dilemma in her life. Sometimes, she needed to just run away from where she lived, from her parents, from her friends. Either way, she needed moved either out or away from Ohio. When she got into an argument with Quinn or Brittany, she felt her feet needing to run, to move. When her grades slipped in eighth grade, she ran. When she didn't get head Cheerio, she ran. When her mom got sick in the third grade, when her parents left her alone for weeks, when she spent Thanksgivings and Christmases alone, her feet always had to be moving. Not all who wander are lost but Santana was sure she wasn't one of them; she was pretty damn lost.

_What do I do, what do I do, what do I do,_ Santana's legs pumped to the slow rhythm of her question. She bolted after Glee, her embarrassment barely contained. _I can't believe I did that_. Warm fuzzy feelings quickly left the moment the song ended, leaving in trail of regret and embarrassment in its wake. It took five hours outside of Lima to settle her nerves a little. She could hit herself for practically giving a public confession to Quinn.

_I could be anywhere I want,_ Santana thought. _I could start over, maybe in California_._ I think I can be happy in California. Get a job…_ But her feet were pointed towards the hellhole of her life, Lima, Ohio. Being able to get to fantastic places just made her body and heart ache for hard-to-reach places.

Trees, roads, people all blurred into a long, grey mesh of nothing. Her feet moved so fast that her shoes hardly touched the ground. While running, though, she felt a calling, like an itch that needed to be satisfied. In places deeper than her bones, she felt a dull ache that was only an echo of what was happening somewhere, diluted sadness and fear that someone felt somewhere else. She shrugged it off, trying to make it go away, roll off her back with the rest of her troubles. The road in front of her and the pounding on her legs helped drown out the sound of someone asking for help.

_God, it feels like forever…_she thought as she reached her house.

She bent over, panting for breath. It was a solid run, actually straining her for the first time in a long time. The soles of her shoes wore away slightly, burned from the speed. Somehow, she made it back. She was back here at the house that was not her home but the closest thing she knew to one.

The air whipped around her, barely catching up to her as she spun in the direction of her house…

...where she found Quinn, huddled in her front steps. The blonde had a red petticoat wrapped around her, leaning on a side pillar. Eyes closed. A duffel bag sat next to her.

"Quinn, it's freezing out here! Are you damn crazy?!" she exclaimed. She also wanted to add "O_r just plain stupid?"_ but stepped off the insults when she looked at the disgruntled expression on Quinn's face.

"What are you doing out here?"

Something that sounded like "waiting for you, what do you think…" came out from her mouth, half growling in irritation, half mumbling.

"Come on, girl," Santana picked Quinn's bag up and slung it over her shoulder. "Let's get some coffee and food in you."

She knelt down, reaching one arm around Quinn's waist, and pulled her onto her feet. Quinn leaned her weight into Santana, feeling the sleep wisping away. She smiled to herself as she remembered she did the same for Santana, holding her and caring for her the same way, not too long ago. _It feels like forever ago._

* * *

"So," Santana took a slow sip of coffee. "You wanna explain the bag?"

She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the black bag that sat next to Quinn.

Quinn scrunched her nose at the question. She glanced at the bag sitting next to her and shrugged nonchalantly, even though it wasn't just nothing.

"It's not like I was going to leave you alone." Quinn let a pause hang while she considered her own answer, the aroma of coffee cutting through the conversation. She cleared her throat. "Not after last night, at least."

Quinn looked down at her cup. _Besides, you hate sleeping in empty houses. You hate crusts on your sandwiches but not on your pizza. You hate hospitals because of the permanent smell of Clorox, latex, and sickness. But not much as you hate sleeping in empty houses and if it helps, I'll stay. _The words were stuck in her throat. Santana would never ask so Quinn had to take it up on herself to lead.

Santana looked surprised. She didn't expect Quinn to care so much about what she couldn't talk about. Her heart fluttered at the thought of Quinn staying with her, close to her. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of other things she might do to Quinn if she were so close.

"What?" Shrug. "It's for me, too. It's Hotel Fabray up in my house, with three cousins at my place. Do you know what it's like to have three brats running around the house? At least your place has enough room for the both of us." _Although your thoughts could fill up the libraries in this house._

She looked back up at Santana. "Besides, this way, we can figure what's up with you. I figured I'd crash your place for awhile."

Her mug hit the marble with a note of finality. The topic of her staying was closed. Quinn coughed. "_Ahem_, so your turn. You wanna explain why you've been trailing sand everywhere?"

Santana smiled as she began to describe what she remembered seeing. "There's this beach, I'll take you sometime. It's in California and…"

* * *

Santana's room spanned across the south wing of the house but her mother's study sat in a nook in the east wing, facing the rising sun in the morning. Her mother was most productive in the morning, though she never really slept early, either. Now, with her mother spending her time in a loft closer to her office in Columbus, Ohio, 91.8 miles, a two-hour drive away, Santana did her homework more and more often in here. Shelves of dark walnut wood lined the walls, stacked with law and medical books. A wide wooden desk, in a color deep and rich as chocolate, faced the window, shining what little light there was left onto the desk. The room smelled like paper and books. Except for the nights Santana slept here before finals. Then it just smelled like Ramen noodles and sugared cereal. Santana enjoyed the presence of _intelligence_, embodied by this room, in her life.

The sky was dark, bringing no light into the room. It relied, instead, on the desk lamp. Santana sat in the black swivel chair, feet up on the desk, leaning her back to the door. The pen in her hand tapped an open notebook on the desk, neurotically. A book on urban studies and planning theory splayed open on her lap, her eyebrows furrowing with concentration.

"I'll never get used to the look of you studying."

Santana whirled around in her chair to see Quinn, leaning against the doorway with a towel rubbing her wet hair. The hallway light made a golden aura against the blonde hair.

"Yeah, well, get used to it," Santana smirked. "'Cause this shit is crazy."

Quinn took a step towards her, her bare feet lightly stepping on the floor.

"Crazy like as in, did you know that there are studies on the way streets are made? Like people feel safer when cars are paralleled parked on the road because it creates this steel barrier between the walking person and the moving cars. People really study this stuff." Santana waved her hands in excitement. Her hair, tied up in a sloppy bun, flopped from side to side.

It is rare to see Santana enthusiastic about anything besides planning how to ruin a rising social status. The last time she was this excited was when Kerri Reynolds got booted off the Cheerios for sleeping around with Puck, caught on camera and handed over to Coach Sylvester, thanks to Santana's camera skills.

Quinn slowly inched towards her, finding a space to lean against along the edge of the desk amongst all the books. Santana crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly aware of how little a tank and shorts covered.

Her heart began to race, the heat from Quinn's body reaching her.

Quinn's hand reached out, approaching closer to Santana's legs…

…grazing along her calves on the desk…

…just to _snatch_ the book on Santana's lap.

The blonde let out a laugh, enjoying the sight of Santana Lopez squirming under her touch. She flipped through the book, symbols and signs denoting the various elements of street design jumbled on the pages. The fan of the pages blew her hair back softly.

"Why are these books always so heavy," Quinn groaned. "Can you imagine carrying six of these?" Quinn tossed the book back and forth between her hands.

Santana smirked and sarcastically drawled, "Yeah, if only I were _strong_ enough for something like that. Gosh…"

"So unfair."

_Thunk_. In the last second of the catch, Quinn's fingers fumbled and missed the tip of the book, landing heavily on the ground by the desk.

Quinn knelt down to pick up the dropped book. In a flash, Santana was on her feet, holding Quinn by her shoulders. Quinn squirmed in Santana's vice grip but couldn't move.

"Did you hear that?" Santana whispered. She tilted the side of her head to the floors.

Quinn strained her ears. The house was silent, except for the sound of her own heart beating.

Santana bent closer to the ground, pressing her ear against the floor. She brought her knuckles by her ears and tapped the floor. A hollow _tk tk tk_ sounded. She glided one hand to the other side and tapped again. A thick _thk thk thk_ sounded.

"It's hollow." Quinn looked at her quizzically, not knowing the answer to Santana's question. "I mean, why is there a hollow sound?"

"Don't be ridiculous, S," Quinn immediately became wary of the focus intensifying on Santana's face. It was hard to change her mind when Santana set it on something and Quinn felt that this, whatever _this_ was, was not a place to go to without caution. It unnerved her, bringing chills to her bones. _You deserve one more night of no worries_, Quinn pleaded in her mind. She quickly covered up her serious concerns with a smile.

She pulled at Santana's fingers, dragging Santana up from the ground. "Come on, let's go eat some ice cream. I spied a tub of green tea ice cream in the freeze and you need to chill. Literally."

Santana let herself be pulled away by the smiling blonde, looking back at the ground where she _knew_ with every fiber in her body, that something was there.

* * *

She couldn't sleep. Her feet were jiggling in bed, screaming to go to the study. Quinn fell asleep half-way through watching The Pianist. She always insisted on watching historical, deep, heart-aching movies like that when Santana was perfectly satisfied with Disney movies. The movie was about three hours long and so quiet; no wonder she fell asleep. If Santana's body could sleep, it would have knocked out in the first hour.

But this was a different kind of no-sleep. It was restlessness. She needed to know, the curiosity gnawing at the back of her mind. She shifted, turning to Quinn's face. _Why is there a hollow spot? _She couldn't figure out if she was being paranoid or suddenly aware of these shifting secrets in her house? There was no way she would have been able to pick out that difference in the sound of the ground and the sound of _hollow_ ground if she wasn't so sensitive. _What could be under there_? Santana couldn't shake off this feeling that she needed to know, that it would be a step to knowing what was happening with her. She looked over at a sleeping Quinn.

_How the hell does she do that_, Santana wondered at the calm on Quinn's sleep face. Her eyebrows weren't furrowed with concern, she seemed to be genuinely enjoying whatever scenic dream her mind was playing. Her lips drawn back in a small smile, her cheeks flushed pink. _Beats my nightmares, at least._

Santana turned away from her. Her bed sat in the middle of the wall opposite of the windows, leaving Santana grateful that she won't to have to climb over Quinn to get out of bed. She pushed off the blanket slowly and pulled her legs over to the side of the bed, careful to not let the shifting weight on the bed wake up the blonde. Leaving Quinn sleeping in her bed was starting to get a little too familiar.

Santana's bare feet didn't touch the ground when she stepped away from the bed. She smiled, taking in the moment that she didn't have to walk on the ground anymore; instead, her feet hovered just a few inches off the ground. The only sound made by her movement was the soft rustle of her clothes as she inched away from the bed.

Out the door.

Down the hall.

To her mother's study.

* * *

Quinn was hot, her dream getting the best of her. She shifted, adjusting the blanket to cover only half of her body and stretching her hand across the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.

_Why is it that every time I wake up, she's gone,_ Quinn grumbled in her mind. This girl had no knack for relaxing, which makes sense since Santana didn't get to where she is today without being a go-getter. Still, it disrupted Quinn's sleep. Or the very pleasant dream she was having, at least. She could still feel Santana's hands running up her sides, fingernails lightly scraping her skin. Santana's soft breath sliding down, lips grazing across her abdomen. Quinn's cheeks flushed at the recollection of the dream. It didn't make sense why she was having these dreams about Santana. _Probably just 'cause we're sleeping so close together_. Quinn shook her head, accepting her own justification. It was probably that. Probably.

She looked over her shoulder, squinting her eyes to read the clock.

The small clock blinked "4:36 AM". She groaned.

A streak of light shined from under the doorway. The hallway light was on.

Quinn sighed, still not fully awake but felt herself getting there. She got up from the bed, giving one last stretch to shake off the sleep, and opened the door to the hallway. The marble that lined that floor just beyond the bedroom was cold, jerking her awake.

_Please, please, please not this again._

The string of lights led her to the study.

She inhaled, holding her breath as she pushed the door open slowly.

The floorboards by the desk were torn open, like a beast clawed through them. The ripped out wood sat in a pile just beyond the desk. A small light came from the desk lamp, creating a slim silhouette of Santana's figure. Her blacked-out figure was leaning forward, gazing through a pile of….. _what is that?_ It looked like xrays, medical documents, all printed and put into folders of neat sheet protectors. Folders littered the desk, the floor, spilling out of the clawed-out ground.

"Hey, S?"

Santana turned around, slowly, holding one folder in hand.

"What are you looking at? Did you find something?"

Santana looked up at Quinn's question, her mouth slightly agape, her brows raised in confusion. Quinn's irritation quickly dissipated at the sight of Santana's vulnerability. The brunette let the fear and confusion show on her face.

"Quinn…" Santana didn't know how to say what was in her hands, in those files. "I found me."

* * *

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	10. I: Blue Folder Reaction

Chapter 10: Blue Folder Reaction

* * *

"I can't understand any of this, Tana," Quinn shook her head. She rubbed her eyes before focusing back at the jumble of papers in front of her. _4 AM and I'm reading research papers_. Oh, how far the mighty have fallen. There must have been stacks and stacks on the desk, even more in the underground safe.

On top of the papers, there were a mess of pictures of young Santana. Santana with her parents at Disneyland, the trip they took when she was four. On the swings at the park. In a pumpkin costume on Halloween. There was one of her, waving adorably from the boarding call room at an airport, pink backpack strapped on her, a small doll of a panda in her hand.

Santana slid a finger affectionately across a picture of her parents tickling her, a screaming laughter escaping young Santana's mouth that she could almost hear. _We were so happy then_, Santana remembered sadly. How different things were now. She cleared her throat when she snapped back from her moment of recollection, feeling Quinn's curious gaze on her.

Quinn took a step closer.

"Gaaahh," Quinn yelped. A splinter from the torn floor stuck to her foot. She leaned against the desk to pick it out carefully with her fingers. One bead of blood gathered at the pricked skin. "This shit better be good, S. My toes aren't bleeding just for anything, you know." Santana smiled; Quinn could make even this strange mess seem funny. She held up the papers she was looking at.

"I don't get why this would be hidden; most of it is research on animals with a focus on specific traits." Santana brought one sheet to the front. Her eyes quickly scanned through the abstract and a few graphs. "Like this one is on bird flight, the hollowness of their bones. This paper proposes the different elements of birds and how they would be adjusted to accommodate flight."

She pointed to a line. "See, this part talks about hollowed bones and the extraction of specific bones to eliminate weight. It talks about applying these concepts to different mammals, how maybe some animals could be altered to take on new abilities, like flight." Quinn felt chills run down her spine, the fine hair rising on the back of her neck, when she heard that.

Her hands flipped through another folder. "This examines feline DNA. Feline reflexes, cat heat, flexibility, bone structure. You know, mating cycles and shit." She remembered this about cats, their mating cycles, when they still had Buttercup. Santana got Buttercup, the small white kitten with a tuft of black fur, when she was nine years old. Buttercup always acted erratic and disappeared for a few days when she went in heat. _Horny cats_, Santana smirked. Buttercup disappeared altogether when she turned 14, losing the only good company in the house. It seemed the paper pointed to the same observations: mating cycles, erratic behavior, disappearance.

Quinn kept glancing back at the pictures of Santana, the only things on the desk that still made sense to her. She picked up one picture, looking at the unfamiliar expression of glee on the little girl's face. _I can't even recognize her_, Quinn gazed at little Santana. It must have broken Santana to watch her family fragment pieces scattered across the world. For all the hundreds of pictures of baby Santana, she couldn't find one of Santana any older than thirteen years old. _What happened?_

Quinn's eyes flashed around, trying to catch up to Santana's speedy reading, jumping from research paper to research paper.

_Reptiles, lizards, regeneration, ectothermic regulation. _

_DNA slicing. _

_Maturing in mammals. _

_Nocturnal behaviors of tigers._

_The unpredictability of human puberty._

Santana was reading frantically. Paper after paper, the stacks of folders she was pulling out seemed endless. _What is this? Where are these from? And why are they hidden?_ The questions threw her life into question. _Why am I here? Why are there so many pictures of me?_ The pile of her pictures shifted with each paper she yanked from under it.

Her agitation built with each paper. She couldn't make the connection, the pictures, the papers.

The pictures of her.

The papers about this.

The pictures of her.

The papers specifically about things that she can do.

The pictures of _her_.

And the papers about altered genes.

_Controlling the discovery rate of genetics resea— Regression method for mapping traits in cross genet— Wide spectrum of genetically determined regenerati—critical for survival and sensitive to genetic disruption—_

_**Smack**._

"Hey!" Quinn slammed her hand down on Santana's frantic flipping with a sharp smack, stopping her mid-page and catching Santana off-guard.

"You need to take a breath," Quinn demanded. Santana paused in her panic, nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

"Calm down," Quinn said more evenly. "We'll start again."

Santana nodded at the command, immediately acquiescing to the blonde's words. _She's right, _she told herself. It won't help to skim these. She needed to tread carefully. She started shifting papers around, searching for _something _other than research papers. No one would hide these if it was just research. A line from a paragraph stood out from a paper peeking out of the corner of the desk, close to falling off.

"_In genetic experimentations, the human hormonal system produces unpredictable results. Though humans are slower in adapting for survival, their genes are wildly unpredictable at this stage. ECC-G-25 adapted to the underwater exposure in Hormonal Growth Expedited Circumstances (HGEC)_. _ECC-L-12, ECC-S-22, ECC-Z-56 failed to complete minimal expectations and were terminated immediately. ECC-G…"_

Santana pulled out the paper, pulling out the thick blue folder it was attached to, almost slipping off the table all together.

Quinn felt Santana suddenly stop, the papers flying coming to settle down. The blonde glanced over to find Santana peering through one folder with intensity.

The file she had in her hands was tinted dark blue. Santana's hands gripped tighter, the plastic crinkling under her grip. Her forehead creased with something like disbelief.

"Hey," Quinn let out softly. She scooted closer to Santana, sliding her arms around Santana's waist from behind her. Santana's shirt rode up a little, Quinn's arms brushing parts of her bare skin. "What is it?"

She tucked her chin on Santana's shoulders, resting just above her collarbones. She peered over Santana's shoulders, feeling her breath become shallower and faster. Quinn's chest felt Santana's heart race. The heat of their close bodies rose ten degrees, just being in such proximity. Santana felt her senses heighten, so aware of Quinn's steady rise and fall of her chest against Santana's back, her arms wrapped loosely around Santana's waist. She couldn't tell if it was from the flutters Quinn was starting to give her whenever she came closer or the apprehension she felt about what this folder contained. Quinn had a better view of what Santana was looking at from this angle. She could see Santana's trembling hands.

The blue folder had a label with thick black letters: **ECC-O-42**. In the corner of the label, someone handwrote "ECHO" in blue ink, small caps under the letters. It was faded, like the person wrote it a long time ago. Right under it, in a layer of fresher ink, it said "SANTANA" in the same handwriting.

* * *

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	11. I: A Tide that Left and Never Came Back

Oscar Wilde once wrote (and with this quote, I, in no way, condone smoking; try to make this into a good analogy): "A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can you want?"

* * *

**Chapter 11: A Tide that Left and Never Came Back**

* * *

"We're not going to do this," Quinn took the folder away from her hands

"Give it back," Santana let out her words slowly, carefully trying to reel back her agitation. She leaned forward, pinning Quinn to the desk behind the blonde as she reached for the folder, just barely out of her reach. Her voice lowered in a tone of seriousness. "I mean it. Now."

Quinn held the folder above her head, being the taller of the two. Santana could probably leap and snatch it but they were both locked in a staring contest, neither backing down. Quinn leaned far back enough to wrap her legs around Santana's waist, pressed up against the desk, stretching back to keep it just beyond Santana's hands and keeping Santana pinned between her legs.

"Whatever is in this," Quinn paused before she went on. "It can wait."

Her voice came out tenderly: "We're not going to do this right now."

Santana's aggression faltered, torn between Quinn's words and her own raging curiosity. Quinn took advantage of this moment to make her case, not that anything could really sway Santana for more than a day.

"Please…" Quinn pleaded softly. "Everything will end, S. Just wait a little longer." _You're too young right now, Santana. Everything as you know it will change. I'll still be here for you. _Their innocence, their adolescence and childhood was slipping like sand through their clutching hands. "What's a few more days?"

Her heart raced just imagining the havoc this folder could rain on Santana's life.

Or it could have been Santana's heat, searing the parts that their bodies touched.

The brunette's body was pressed up against her own milky skin, reaching for the folder above her head. Caramel pressed against vanilla. Santana leaned forward but she wasn't reaching for the folder anymore. Her hip bones pressed against the insides of Quinn's thighs, taut legs meeting Santana's angles and edges. Santana pressed one hand behind Quinn on the desk from falling completely onto Quinn; instead, she shifted her weight onto Quinn's, her waist still wrapped tightly in Quinn's slender but strong legs.

Santana's other hand reached around to press the small of Quinn's back, feeling the small dimples on Quinn's lower back as she brought the two closer. Papers crumpled under as Quinn's legs slid closer to Santana's body. Some folders fell off the desk but Santana couldn't fathom what she wanted in that moment, completely forgetting what they had just found in the study. Those full, pink lips, those vivid green eyes, that creamy skin, so close. She was hypnotized, not realizing she was leaning closer to Quinn.

Quinn sucked in the air, needing some relief from the heat.

_What is this?_ Santana was lost in her confusion.

For all the mental capacity that Santana attained in the past weeks, she could not figure out what her heart and body was begging for. Her arms and legs, chest and hips moved to their own desires, pressing harder into Quinn, trying to bring their bodies closer, a task not manageable since they were up against each other, wrapped and tangled in each other's spaces. Santana couldn't tell if it was her heart racing or Quinn's, their heartbeats piled on each other.

"I….," Quinn breathed out, feeling their desires mingling as their faces were millimeters apart. She could smell the fresh scent of cinnamon burn through her lungs as Santana hovered so closely, lips almost touching. The heat in the room rose with their desires in the air, eyes searching each other's face, trying to gauge what was happening to them, between them.

Quinn slowly brought down the folder onto the desk behind her, keeping her gaze locked.

"You what?" Santana softly asked, her breath on Quinn's lips. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

Quinn took her free hands and reached for the sides of Santana's shirt, jerking her forward. Santana felt her lips land on Quinn's, tasting the sweet, fresh tang of spearmint toothpaste and, always jasmine, of her mouth. Quinn, with legs still wrapped around Santana's waist, reached around to hug Santana's lower back, still not breaking their kiss. There was no element of surprise this time but it was still climactic, this falling, tumbling into the unknown. The kiss still suckerpunched Santana hard in the gut, reminding her that this,_ this_, was unchartered territory, unknown pleasures. It may not have been surprising but it still caught her off guard.

Her anxiety was suddenly eased by this moment, lips on lips. Santana inhaled, breathing into Quinn's kiss. Quinn held on tighter to her shirt and brought her even closer if possible, squeezing Santana's waist with her legs, feeling both their desire, comfort, confusion as she felt her best friend kiss back. _It feels so right_, this unknown feeling. Her concern for the brunette spilled into her kiss, pouring everything Quinn had into the moment. She let go of the shirt and let her hands slip under Santana's shirt, her nails lightly raking the sides of Santana's caramel skin. She felt Santana's cheeks pull into a smile, just like last time, with both happiness and disbelief.

They stayed frozen until they were forced to finally break for air, panting as they pulled apart. Quinn brushed Santana's hair back, resting her hand on Santana's cheek. Santana tangled her fingers into the blonde locks. _What is this feeling? What are we doing? _Quinn thought, both content and sad that things were already beginning to change, whether it was for the better or worse.

"Can we just relax a few days? It's been so rough on you, I can see it." And it was pretty obvious, that even though Quinn was here, comforting her, taking care of her, Santana was still haunted by what was happening to her. Her skin was paler, her eyes were glazed over, she contemplated deeply in herself, in her thoughts. Santana, these days it seemed, reeled into unreachable places in her mind. Quinn could practically see the see the soft undersides of Santana's harsh personality, pierced with recent events. Quinn scanned Santana's face wistfully, reassuringly, her thumb brushing back and forth on Santana's temple.

"Just wait?"

Santana took a moment to decide before she pulled Quinn into a hug, her forearms pressing against Quinn's shoulder blades, burying her face into Quinn's shoulder, her cheek pushed against the soft skin. Quinn felt Santana's head nod yes.

* * *

Santana sipped her cup of warm tea that Quinn had set in front of her. She would have preferred coffee but tea was always Quinn's choice of drink and well, since Santana was the only other one in the house, someone had to go through their stock of tea. No wonder she always smelled like jasmine. _Jasmine green tea_, Santana recognized as she sipped.

"Okay," Quinn started. "We need a break. We need a list of things we want to do."

"A list?"

"Yeah, like a bucket list." The blonde's head bobbed as she nodded, affirming her own words. "You know, like I want to go to that one spot where the corners of four states touch."

"What? That doesn't exist," Santana scoffed skeptically.

Quinn, in mocking anger, exclaimed, "You doubt moi?!" She smiled brightly and winked at the brunette. "We'll go someday. Anyway, what do you want to do?"

Santana thought about this for a moment.

"I know."

* * *

For the first time, Santana enjoyed her newfound abilities. She wasn't using them to get away from where she was or trying to outrun who she is, the freakshow she felt like. She used them because, hell, if she was stuck with them, she might as well have fun.

Santana faced Quinn, standing in front of her house. Her smile was the last thing Quinn saw as Santana blindfolded Quinn with a emerald green silk scarf. She whispered "Trust me" before she picked up Quinn by her legs, perching the girl on her back. A rush of wind blew back Quinn's hair, her arms tightly around Santana's neck, her legs held up by Santana's arms.

Before the scarf came off, she could smell the ocean. The sun felt warm, coming from somewhere above her. A radio blasted somewhere, only barely reaching her.

When Santana slipped off the scarf from her eyes, the beach was just as Santana described it. She didn't even notice Santana carefully tie the scarf around her neck. _It brings out her eyes_, she thought as she glanced at matching emerald eyes, wide-eyed at the sight in front of the blonde.

Santana grinned as she felt Quinn's awe, remembering her own when she first saw this place. It's not Lima, Ohio, that's for sure. The sand was warm, slipping and sliding under her feet. The sun beat onto her skin, reminding her it was the Golden State. The sun painted warm streaks of orange and pink, casting glittering diamonds on the surface of the ocean. Life buzzed everywhere around here, people on bikes, in their bikinis and swim shorts. She even spotted a man in a tight Speedo. It could have been on a postcard.

"I'll take you to my spot," Santana weaved her fingers into Quinn's, leading her without really asking. Quinn let herself be led, hypnotized by how the sun shined in the Latina's dark hair, lighter in this sun. Her hair looked almost bronze. Santana had to look away from Quinn; her blonde hair shimmered blindingly under a Californian sun, dazzling.

She brought her under a pier, sitting down against a pillar. The sand was cool where the sun didn't shine.

Quinn could see why Santana would love this spot. Even though the girl thrived wherever she put herself, Quinn saw her most at ease at her house, in the cool dark invisibility of her house where no one was watching her. For Santana, life was a long migraine and she was constantly seeking a cool dark place to make it better, to be, to lie down and just exist without the glare of the school, the sun, her parents. She could see the sun, watch the world, from the safe space under the pier. Quinn looked back at Santana, her head leaned back with a pair of aviators sunglasses perched delicately that kept Quinn from seeing Santana's closed eyes.

"What?" Santana could feel Quinn looking at her. It made her nervous because she wasn't sure of how Quinn felt about her. Maybe she was a freakshow, fascinating and morbid that you couldn't stop staring. Maybe she was "interesting" the way llamas are sometimes but it doesn't mean you wanna take one home. _Maybe Quinn feel butterflies_, Santana hoped for a moment but she quickly crushed that small hope as soon as it entered her mind. Whatever unknown feelings may have been developing for Quinn was probably unrequited, nothing beyond their _very_ close friendship at least.

Quinn smiled. She fingered the soft silk around her neck. "Nothing."

"Then why you lookin', Fabray? I know I'm _fine_ but don't be undressing me with your eyes." Santana felt suddenly uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

Quinn didn't even acknowledge Santana's attempt at a joke. She didn't bother to filter her thoughts: "You look happy here."

Santana inhaled the sea air, deeply, slowly through her teeth, a small hiss escaping as she answered. "I am." Pause. "You're here with me."

The words came out without any attachment, low and husky, but still, Quinn heard the layer of emotion under the nonchalance. Quinn leaned back against the pillar, shoulders touching Santana's shoulders, closed her eyes, and reached for Santana's hand.

She felt Quinn's cool fingers lay gently over hers, not weaving but just there, in case she ever needed.

* * *

_I can't believe I still have to listen to this shit,_ Santana rolled her eyes at the chalkboard in front of her. It was a waste of her time to learn European History when she'd already read about it three weeks ago, moving quickly onto advanced mathematics and applicative calculus. _I say, what's done is done. Let the dead just be, damn. _Her foot shook back and forth with impatience, pressed up against the desk in front of her.

"Stop it," the girl in front of her hissed, turning around to glare at the moron who was shaking her desk. Santana's eyes narrowed as the girl's jaw dropped, recognizing her mistake in the fire in Santana's dark eyes.

Santana leaned forward. The teacher kept talking.

Her voice came out softly, the danger levels rising in the air.

"If you want to still _exist_ in this school, I suggest you reconsider your words."

The girl nodded and turned back towards the chalkboard slowly, trembling in the aftermath of her interaction. Santana raised one sculpted brow at her back, before returning to her thoughts.

But today, ECC-O-42 wasn't on her mind. I mean, it was but she couldn't do anything about it right now. She hadn't even looked at the folder since she found it. _I just want to go back_, she decided after they came back from the beach, _before all of this. Some parts, at least. _She pushed it back into a dusty corner of her mind for now.

There was a blonde on the forefront of her mind.

Last night was the first night in two weeks Quinn didn't stay over. Quinn's mom never minded that Quinn wasn't at home. Their relations were tense; her mother was almost relieved that her daughter wasn't there to aggravate her father. The Fabray home was always a precarious situation, possibly just as dysfunctional as her own family. It worked out well for Santana so far, though. Santana missed a warm body sleeping next to her. Even though Santana couldn't sleep, watching and feeling Quinn sleep is the closest she felt to sleeping. It felt safer when she knew Quinn was nearby. Not that the girl can run fast or fly or heal but she made it better somehow.

Santana was too tired to do anything about the folder for now. The blue folder sat in the study, the mess on the floor left alone. The invisible people knew what not to touch, thankfully and she posted a post-it on the door: "PLEASE DO NOT ENTER/CLEAN." It's been a few days and Santana didn't go in, either. But she felt the room's presence. It wasn't a huge room but when she tried avoiding something, it seems to become bigger, demanding her attention relentlessly. She carefully treaded around it. Even last night, without Quinn, she ran until she was tired, took a long hot shower and went to bed. _I don't want to think about it just yet_, she shook off her thoughts. The blue folder waited patiently, she just knew. She could run across the world…

_But I can't avoid it forever._

* * *

The only class that the Holy Trinity didn't have together was history. Santana took European history . Brittany turned out to be surprisingly good at remembering odd facts and moved quickly onto American History. Quinn, of course, took Art History. Something about the paintings, the photography, the movement in the still moments spoke to her.

It was her capacity to understand people that helped her with this class. She could see a painting but would hear the artist. The artist who poured his (or her) soul into oil, acrylic, a goddamn cave wall. She could understand a person's innermost feelings, fears, thoughts. This capacity, of course, translated into her position as Head Bitch in Charge. Her eyes would sear through any student and if she wanted, grip the student's heart and rip it out. She could reach in and break someone's heart with their own worst weaknesses.

It was different with Santana and Brittany, though. She would reach into their minds and hearts and try to mend their hearts. Brittany was wholly untainted, her optimism deflecting any pains. A few times, someone broke Brittany's heart but Quinn and Santana quickly teamed up to crush them.

This was handy, being able to understand. Especially now that Santana was in such a state. _She doesn't let people in too often_, Quinn worried, her bottom lip caught between her lips in her nervous habit. The least Quinn could do was to be there for her as one of the few people she let in.

"And this period is well-reflected in the brush strokes pointed out here," the teacher up front lectured. "If you look at this, these characteristics are defined by the…."

Quinn wrote down what she was saying mindlessly, dividing her attention between the art in front of her and her concern for Santana after her first night alone. Quinn couldn't get out of her seeing her family this once. Her mother was so relieved that Santana could accommodate her; her father behaved better when the dutiful daughter appeared only when needed. Even Quinn felt better that she was dismissed from home fun and games. She smiled at the thought of the duffel bag in her car, all set to camp out at Santana's, ready to break the news to her as soon as she saw the brunette.

Still, it would have to wait until Glee and Cheerio practice, when they would have a chance to talk see each other. She hadn't seen Santana in a whole day and honestly, it was an excruciating separation. For Quinn, at least. It was suddenly different to not have another body shifting around in bed, even though she may get irritated by Santana's restlessness in midst of her own sleepiness. Quinn laughed at herself, her neediness. _So pathetic. Friends don't get this clingy._ She shook her head before returning all her attention to the art piece in front of her.

* * *

Through all of Glee, her leg thumped impatiently on Berry's chair, causing the diva to whip around and demand she stop. Santana rolled her eyes but did comply. Quinn, sitting next to her, winked. Santana couldn't help smiling at that.

"So I have a bag…" Quinn whispered slowly, eyes fixed on Artie, Mercedes and Tina's performance of some song or another, not looking at Santana. "My parents gave me their blessing, if it's okay with you and I'm home for public events…" She didn't know how to ask to crash at Santana's.

"Stay with me." Quinn looked at the girl and if she hadn't heard the words, she wouldn't have thought Santana had said anything; the girl looked straight ahead, like she was focusing on the performance in front of them. The only indication of their interaction was a small smile playing on Santana's lips. Santana cleared her throat, feeling a blush creep onto her cheeks as Quinn returned her gaze to the front.

Even Cheerio practice, with its typical demanding nature filed down to a mediocre workout, time seemed to move so damn slow. The jarring whistle didn't even drop of Sylvester's mouth by the time Santana power-walked to the gym to basically speed back home.

She unlocked the door, determined to get this blue folder done with before Quinn would get here. She dumped her bag on the couch and made a straight beeline for the study.

As she approached the door, she heard a quiet rustling, stopping dead in her tracks.

_I told them not to touch this room!_ Santana thought angrily when she saw the study door open slightly. Whispers were just beyond the door. The orange post-it was still on the door. Santana snatched it and crumpled it in her hands. It was irritating when people didn't seem to be able to follow simple directions, things that would in fact make their lives easier. _It would give them one less room to clean!_ She stood there for a moment, glaring at the door as if it committed the offensive action. Her anxiety was already teetering on the edge and even the smallest thing chucked her over. She shook her head, in disbelief and in a vain attempt to clear her mind before she prepared to…. Prepared to what? _To read the folder? To have her world turned upside-down and inside-out? To find out what's been happening? Or realize there aren't answers for what's happening at all?_

She pushed the door open. Her mouth fell open a little at the sight of two people she hadn't seen in almost weeks leaning over the desk.

"Mom? Dad?"

Dr. and Mrs. Lopez turned around slowly to face their not-so-little little girl. Maribel Lopez held the blue folder in her hand and looked over to her husband, who seemed speechless as well. She sighed. _This is it_, Santana thought. _Something is about to change_. She felt destiny and fate prickling her skin, the hair on the back of her neck standing, her skin raising small goosebumps, even though the room seemed hotter than colder.

"Santana," her mother started, her voice wavering with weariness. "I think…I think it's time we talked about some things."

* * *

Some great conversations and discoveries coming in the next chapter. I have a few ideas planned out and I'm excited to share it with you. It's a pretty sick place to leave this chapter but I'm trying to be careful so that all the details match up :) Plus, Santana needed a little lovin'

Please leave a review and let me know what you think! You guys are awesome.


	12. I: Unspoken Words for Unaccounted Years

Chapter 12: Unspoken Words for Unaccounted Years

* * *

_Damn it_, Quinn slammed the steering wheel with frustration. Quinn shook her head, listing off all the things that move faster than the line of cars in front of her. _Ants. Turtles. Hippos. Aunt Susan and her ridiculously slow walk. Mountains, for God's sake._

The traffic was crawling in front of her. Scratch that. Crawling would be faster than the speed they were not moving at. Someone got in a motorcycle accident on Elm Street, jamming traffic into one of the main streets of the town. If Quinn craned her neck, she could see blinking sirens. Even if she didn't see it, she sure as hell could hear it. The screech of the sirens pounded loudly, even against closed windows, making them vibrate with eachshriek the sirens belted out.

She was antsy, feeling nervous and excited to see Santana. Nervous for the consequences of meandering through the dark, unexplored regions of their friendship (is it even a friendship anymore?). Excited to embark another adventure with her, reach new heights. _Maybe we can climb find a vista point around here. Stand on the top of Empire State Building. Move the dinosaur bones at the Natural History Museum,_ she thought, amused by all the ideas she came up with just to keep Santana happy. _Watch RENT again. Or sing. Dance in that ballroom. _They didn't have to go anywhere to make Quinn happy. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies, remembering a kiss, a touch. God knows the fireworks that would go off if she took Santana by one hand, reached an arm her waist, swayed her to an echoing song in the ballroom. Her stomach did a somersault at the thought. It didn't make sense that she felt…whatever she felt. It just felt so damn good, the inexplicable, indescribable feeling of…_God, there needs to be more words in the English language_, Quinn rolled her eyes in frustration at the limitations of language. It was something beyond describable, something that she couldn't quite pin down with words without degrading the enormity of what she felt. All she knew was she felt it, just as tangibly as the steering wheel she drummed her long fingers against with impatience, physically stuck somewhere in traffic but mentally floating with her thoughts far away.

The sun set in less time than for her to even get halfway through the traffic, quickly transitioning from afternoon skies to twilight. For all the people that supposedly study urban planning, according to Santana, Quinn couldn't understand why they never thought about the sheer amount of traffic one accident can cause.

* * *

Santana had a recurring dream every once in a while. The first time she remembered having it, she was seven, sometime right after a small earthquake. To any other seven year old, earthquakes were mini-rollercoaster; to a seven-year-old Santana, it was the world falling apart and she was standing where the ground was splitting.

She dreamed that she was inside of William McKinley High School when the floor started rumbling, the ground shifting under her feet as some sort of dark omen. It was like… _what was that line? Something wicked this way comes._ Gas starts hissing out of pipes; water starts spilling everywhere. The building makes a roaring noise as it starts to fall apart. She could hear everyone screaming and running, making it out of the just as chunks of the walls start breaking off. People are pulling each other out, but Santana was always stuck, unable to move or be moved. One night, she might be half-buried under a broken wall. Another night, she was shoved inside a locker and no matter how loudly she pounded, no one heard her as they all ran out the building. She was always stuck as the building started to crumble, everyone else watching the only girl left behind get buried under the rubble.

That's how she felt as Santana rubbed the side of her thumb against her lip nervously as she sat stiffly on the couch, across her father. The carefully-bolstered walls of her life were shifting, determined to bring down her steadiness with the dark and ominous omens looming overhead. She felt jittery; the air around her thickened with tension, palpable and permanent as cement.

Her father smiled weakly from his seat in front of her. He was still wearing scrubs under his white coat and if Santana was smelling and seeing right, small splotches of blood were on his inner forearm sleeve. _He looks so uncomfortable_, Santana noticed he didn't look at her directly.

Even two rooms away, she could hear her mother searching for the mugs for coffee as loudly as though she was banging two pots against each other right by Santana's ears. Her eyebrows furrowed at the loud sounds, trying to adjust to the sheer volume of the house with two more people in it.

"It's in the upper right cabinet by the stove," she called out, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her, unable to handle the din of her mother's search.

"Thanks!" her mom called back.

Some tinkering noises approached from the kitchen. Her mom came back and set a tray of three mugs with a coffee pot, two dishes of creamer and sugar…right next to the blue folder. _Like this is a business meeting, _Santana scoffed inwardly. In silence, her mother poured her dad a cup. He picked up a spoon and stirred in the creamer and sugar. Her mother sipped her black coffee. They moved so slowly, delaying this conversation as long as possible, as though delaying the entirety of Santana's life wasn't enough.

Finally, they couldn't stir any longer. Santana watched as they leaned back against the couch, wondering how they were going to explain this one.

Her father cleared his throat. There was a pause before he even started.

"When you were seven, you brought home a picture frame made with macaroni noodle from school. You had spray-painted those noodles gold and you loved it," her father started. Santana raised her eyebrows in confusion. This was pretty much as far as you can get from regeneration and bird flight. "You were so proud of it, we put a picture of our family in it."

Santana nodded slowly, barely remembering it the gold stains on the clothes she wore that day. The frame was probably somewhere around here.

"Your mom got sick around then, just after that," her father continued. "She kept that frame by her hospital bed because she said you made her laugh. She was sick and tired all the time and said there isn't laughter in hospitals. It was a pretty rough time but we knew she would get better because it wasn't as bad as the first time she got sick."

_Huh?_ Santana scrunched her nose, trying to remember a time her mom was sick before the third grade without much success.

Her mom continued where her husband left off, like they had rehearsed this conversation. Which they had. There was so much to explain and only so many words in the English language to describe the indescribable. Maribel Lopez had imagined this conversation in every scenario possible but just had never prepared for the reality of the moment.

"Early in our marriage, a genetic disorder started wearing away my muscles," her mother's voice wavered, remembering a painful time in her life. "My mother was a carrier for a genetic code that caused a degree of muscle dystrophy. It was sometime after your father graduated from medical school, just as I graduated from law school. I was useless in anything besides laws but he had networked a whole web of doctors and researchers throughout his medical education. So he began reaching out to everyone he knew to find me help."

Her father sipped his coffee, casting his eyes at the milky brown liquid. Santana couldn't stomach anything, let alone a cup of caffeine. Her stomach was already flipping and doing somersaults with anticipation of explanations. _You're an alien. You're part werewolf. You're a vampire. Your limbs were amputated and you're actually mostly a robot. You're from the future. You're actually a man._ That last one, being a man, didn't really explain anything but she came up with so many reasons in her head explaining what was happening to her, what those folders were. But still, she could imagine each of those explanations coming from her parents' mouths. Nothing these really made sense anyway.

"I asked everyone but my best bet was Lara Amaral. She was the top of our genetics research class and that's the direction she chose," he picked up seamlessly when her mother stopped. "Lara came from a prestigious university in Brazil and was in medical school with us but quickly transferred to a well-known biology and chemistry PhD program. She was spectacular with her skills, her knowledge. She was, _is_, creative to no end with her science."

Pause. Her mother held the blue folder in her hands, running her fingers along the edges of it as her father took another unnecessarily long and drawn-out sip of coffee. Silence hung uncomfortably in the air.

"I asked her to help because I knew she would. She was a kind, generous person. It had been years since we saw each other before she changed directions with her career but she still replied when I left her a message."

He looked down at his mug in his hands, unsure of how to start the real beginning of their explanation.

"She called me back quickly and I explained our situation. Lara agreed to help us but there was a caveat. She was in the middle of a project for the genetics research lab that she was working in and she may need my help someday as well."

He looked over at his wife, sitting beside him, a glimmer of fondness that reflected the depth of a lost affection in his eyes. Such affection was put in the backseat when their careers took precedence. He always thought this fragmentation of his family was a temporary state, just until things in their respective careers would settle down but months passed, years passed and before they knew it, Santana was already in high school. She spent most of her adolescence alone or with the company of a kitten they bought her once a long time ago. _Buttercup_, he barely recalled. "Santana, I know we spend a lot of time apart as a family but I love your mother. So much. It was unbearable to watch her get sicker and sicker. I would have agreed to anything, giving her my own muscles, if it meant making her better."

Her mother gave him a small smile. She adjusted her suit jacket, fiddling with a button in the front. The gleam of the burnished brass button caught Santana's eyes; she fixed her gaze on it, unable to look up at her parents. Maribel Lopez's voice hardened a little, like she was reading this off of an index card.

"Lara helped us, taking genetic data, blood samples, marrow tests," her mother described the process as best as she could, her law degree becoming utterly useless in fields of medicine, recovery, diseases. "It was painful but I went through a series of tests, exams, and more tests. In the end, the condition was assuaged, for the time being, as you know. For the moment, for a short few years, it was alleviated and the worst of it was over. We could never have thanked Lara enough for giving us the time that she did. It came back later again after you –"

Her voice faltered, stuck on how to describe how Santana came to them. _Were born?_ Santana hoped these words would finish that sentence.

"Santana," her father's voice broke a little. "We love you so much, we never meant to leave you or lie to you. We didn't know how to tell you... I didn't imagine… we were young and when your mother became sick, we were so scared…" The sentence wandered off.

Her mother straightened her jacket, sat up. This can't be hard. She tells people everyday difficult things, when they are facts. These are just facts, like any case. She shook off her emotions, fixating on a single point just beyond Santana's head.

"When Lara called us one day, a few years later, she sounded frantic, almost panicked. Raving about something at a lab, not knowing what she was getting into. She asked us to meet her, just by Grand Lake off route 703. And we drove that night, it was urgent. When we finally met her, it was so late, almost midnight. She stepped out of the car and said she was so sorry but she had to save just one. There was some sort of disaster at her lab. We didn't know what she was talking about. She reached into her trunk and brought out a cardboard box, labeled "Human Organ", the kind of box they use to transport human organs during surgeries. It wasn't closed all the way and we could hear something rustling inside."

Dr. Lopez nodded at his wife's words. "She opened it all the way, just as you cried from inside. You were so little, tucked with a blanket. There were documents, like birth certificates and social security number card, under the blanket. We were scared and excited, but we had just discussed having children. You came to us like a sign. We fell in love with you the moment we held you." He grasped at his wife's hand.

"Lara asked us to take you in, that was her wish. You weren't her daughter," Santana's moment of hope was squashed quickly. "But she cared about you deeply, even we could see that. Lara was the one who named you, actually. Before she drove away, she asked that you be named Santana. She had her own reasons but we didn't have a chance to ask; she rushed back to where she came from and we didn't hear from her for years."

"The next time we saw her, you were four years old," her mother continued. "We were surprised to bring you home from preschool, your little pink backpack strapped tightly, and find Lara on our steps. She seemed so different. Things had changed for her. The years were hard on her."

"This time, it was about keeping you safe, about you and how you would change. She came to explain some things about you. Most of it, we couldn't understand. Really, she was talking about genetics one moment, animals another. There were things about labs and agencies. Codes. Lab termination. She brought us so many files. She said they were relevant to you but we couldn't understand them. She thought maybe you would someday so we kept them. In case you ever needed answers. She was thinking about you, even in the hardest times of her life."

"She said it didn't matter we didn't understand all of it but for your sake, we'd have to be careful. Careful when you were growing up. For the most part, you were just a normal child, she said. But you were genetically engineered; I think that's how she described it. From what we've read in the papers we tried to understand, you were… not…"

"Not what?"

"…born in the _conventional_ sense. Lara was the closest thing to a mother for you; she nurtured you from scientific conception. She was the one who stayed up when you cried. She was the nurse, the doctor, the engineer, the mother, the playmate when you were an infant. But you were a little different, genetically engineered and geared towards a specific purpose, she said. She never told us what that was."

"She warned us. Lara said things may change once you grew to be a teenager, once you hit puberty. You might change and she wasn't sure of how. But she wanted us to give you the best, most normal childhood we could. And we really tried." A film of tears glistened on her mother's eyes. Santana nodded, slowly and not quite noticeably. They did love her; they did give her a childhood worth remembering.

"Santana, we loved you so much. We _love_ you. We just didn't understand what was happening. We poured _so_ much of ourselves to you because… because you are our little girl." Her mother's voice broke, unable to continue.

Dr. Lopez picked up. "When you turned twelve, we became a little nervous. We didn't know what to expect as you matured." Her mother reached for her father's hand, grasping it tightly. "It was just as our own careers took off. It's so unfair but we both became so busy. We weren't prepared to become parents when Lara brought you to us and it was finally all falling into place in terms of our respective careers. So many things were changing and being consumed by our careers became easier."

"And we watched you but you didn't change in our eyes. You were just like your friends, anyone your age, really. We weren't sure of what to expect because Lara spoke so…"

_I'm not their child_, Santana couldn't even hear the words anymore. Her parents' voices faded into the distance. _I don't know who I am anymore. I'm not even human…_ Santana gripped the couched, unable to even comprehend the entirety of their words.

"I have to go," Santana stood up abruptly. The couch slid back, her legs pushing them in her sudden movement.

"Santana," her mother started as she placed the blue folder back on the table. The secret had been so hard. Leaving Santana alone had been harder but the daughter she knew as a child wasn't the person in front of her, she knew that much. Lara made that clear. "Please understand. We've tried to do things the best we could."

Santana turned to leave, giving a curt nod. "I know."

Santana had a recurring dream every once in a while. She dreamed about walls falling, floors splitting, hissing gas, and spilt water. Her eyes looked around frantically, trying to find a helping hand. The ground rumbled under her. Everyone was running away and she was rooted to the floor.

And as she walked out the door, heading to a safe place that made her problems seem far away and insignificant, Santana felt the ceiling, the walls, the floors of her carefully balanced world crashing down on her, finally crushing her underneath the weight of her world falling apart.

* * *

"Santana!" Quinn knocked on the locked door. Her knuckles hurt from pounding the door, probably more anxious and nervous than she should have felt. _She knows I'm coming over_. "Hey!" She pounded a few more times but no answer. The knocks echoed inside, she could hear it. Quinn peered over the side, looking for Santana's car. When she it was parked there, she rolled her eyes at herself. _Of course her car is home. What's the point of having a car when you run faster than one? Than a plane, for that matter? _When she looked carefully, she realized that there were two more cars. _Who else is here?_

"Come on," Quinn heard her voice whine against the front door. She hated the sound of it but the duffel bag in her hands was heavy and she was tired. "Damn traffic," she cursed under her breath. She slammed her fist against the door. "Santana!"

She turned around to face the driveway, unsure of what to do now. The duffel bag and backpack dropped from her shoulders with a heavy _thunk_.

The door opened behind her, her shadow casted long in front of her onto the steps from the driveway. _Finally, woman._

"Finally!" Quinn turned around to scowl at Santana.

Only to find Santana's mother.

Her mother was meticulously dressed, like all the other times Quinn had ever seen her…which was not that much, actually. But the woman looked tired, not like she just ran a marathon but like she hadn't slept in days. Her eyes had a worn look, the corners of her mouth pulled downward.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Quinn quickly apologized. "I told Santana I was coming."

"Santana…." Maribel Lopez hesitated, a little unsure of how close the two were. Was it safe to tell Quinn to take care of Santana? "She went for a walk. I think she wanted to clear her head." Her voice came out weak, so unlike the district attorney she saw in action during a prominent embezzlement and fraud case. Her voice was normally commanding, direct. That steel that lined Santana's voice, well, Quinn knew where Santana must have learned it from. But not now. Now, it was worn out, hoarse almost.

"Okay, thanks!" Waves of blonde hair fluttered as she turned around, knowing exactly where Santana would be if she really did go for a walk to clear her head. Already with her feet pointing to where she speculated Santana would be, she could hear Dr. Lopez behind her from somewhere inside, calling Mrs. Lopez. She took a step down and–

"Quinn?"

Quinn looked over her shoulder, finding the woman sadly watch her go. Dr. Lopez was approaching from behind her, one hand stained with ink splotches and the other holding a letter. He reached an arm around Mrs. Lopez's shoulders and Quinn felt stuck between a rock and hard place. "We…" she gestured to her husband and herself. "We have to go, back to our jobs and research." Quinn felt the flash of anger, angry _for_ Santana who wasn't here to hear her mother and father trying to leave again. _Can't these people stay put for once?_ It quickly dissipated with her next words.

"We're going to leave Santana a letter to explain some things but it may not be enough. Can you make sure Santana is okay?" Quinn could hear a small tremble in the voice, a flood of emotions barely held back a breaking dam.

Quinn nodded, one foot still raised above the step below her.

"I think … I think she could use a friend right now."

With those words, Quinn bolted down the steps, as fast as she could to the water tower.

* * *

Santana leaned her head back against the metal wall of the water tower, one leg stretched out, one leg bent. It wasn't a long run, she was used to how quickly she got here. It was unusual that she felt restless and did nothing about it. Unlike most people, she was an insatiable person, needing to constantly move. Movement was part of her human condition and she loved it with every one of her burning muscles. Her body needed to be in constant motion.

But tonight, her legs weren't tired, her soul was. Her heart felt too heavy, too tired, too… inhuman to comply to the demands of her body. No, it wasn't a long or fast run but it was hard, hard to drown out the conversation she could recall perfectly, down to the tone of her mother's voice on each and every word. Her dad's expressions, subtle but telling. Their glances. The thinly veiled fear of not knowing the girl they raised, to some degree at least.

Her life was one long tragedy, from beginning to end, and tragedy was one tricky bitch. When Brittany's family lost her grandmother, her family became closer than ever. When Santana grew up, her own version of some sick twisted tragedy, it tore her family apart. It made sense now why the Lopezes fell apart. There were so many things they couldn't talk about without lying that in the end, they just stopped talking. How do you talk to parents who won't talk to you? Instead, the three of them lived in their own worlds, slowly orbiting apart and away. They coexisted, acknowledging each other's existence but making no movement to accommodate the presence.

She exhaled, trails of hot breath escaping her mouth. Her arms gripped on each other, nails biting her skin and biceps hugging her ribcage in. The dull ache in her mind that she had managed to keep under control threatened to flare into a fucking forest fire and sear every shred of good inside of her. Santana just gripped tighter, holding it all in, and wished she brought a pack of beer to keep her company.

_How did things get so fucked up?_

* * *

Hello, all! Sorry for the wait, especially after I left you with a cliffhanger. I hope this explains a little bit of Santana's past (and trust me, it's just such a small explanation). Many many things to come! This was all such a build-up. _This_ is where things get interesting, for me as an author at least.

**boringsiot**: Your review totally cracked me up. Hopefully, this is the carrot you've been chasing after. Just so you know, there's like chocolate cake and gold in the stories to come. Hope you enjoyed the extra-long chapter.

**Ryoko05**: I love hearing that you loved reading it. I'm always glad to hear that you are enjoying it. Yes, these chapters are getting longer, huh? I hope it's not too much of a bore when it's so long!

**To everyone who endured some pain while waiting for this chapter, especially after that last cliffhanger**: Thanks for reading. I mean that as genuinely and sincerely as typed words can deliver. Thank you, thank you, _thank you _for being patient and encouraging!

Please leave me a review and let me know you lovely readers are out there and what you think :) As always, happy reading!


	13. I: It Takes One Match for a Forest Fire

Chapter 13: It Takes One Match For a Forest Fire

* * *

"S?"

A breeze blew her hair above her, her blonde locks reaching the platform before even she did. Quinn climbed over the last rung on the ladder, hearing the choked sobs before she saw the broken girl. Something inside ruptured painfully when she saw a small figure, huddled against the metal wall of the water tower. She gingerly took a seat beside her.

Quinn considered making Santana talk when she noticed that Santana was crying freely. It was the most open that she remembered seeing Santana. Her expression was fragile, her features looking impossibly delicate on that exquisite face, so different from the confident mask she usually put on. She sat down next to Santana, her shoulders meeting Santana's. She looked at those dark eyes gazing out into the city lights, so deep with sadness that Quinn felt lost in them. What would happen if she looked directly at Quinn with those eyes right now? She bit the inside of her cheek, contemplating how to approach Santana without overwhelming her. Words were never enough so Quinn resorted to being there for her with actions.

She reached one arm around Santana's shoulders. Santana accepted the comfort, needing it as much as Quinn needed to give it, her weight silently shifting to accommodate for Quinn's unspoken presence. Strands of black silky hair flowed across Quinn's shoulder as the brunette leaned her head onto Quinn's chest. Santana felt the delicate rib bones under her cheek reverberate with Quinn's sympathetic humming, just as Quinn could feel tears wet the bare skin just below her collarbone. Long pale fingers combed through dark hair, the reassuring action making her tears flow down her cheeks faster. Santana felt like crying and she had no idea that she already was. Her chest was breaking, rib cages cracking, shoving an overwhelming sadness of not knowing who she was, on all dimensions. Sadness, anger, frustration seeped through her pores, settling under her skin with an uncomfortable prickling sensation.

The hum became louder, slowly transforming into the only song Quinn could call at the moment. A voice, as far away as the heaven and just as angelic as its inhabitants, reached down to Santana.

_Just lay it all down,_

_Put your face into my neck and let it fall out._

_I know, I know, I know._

_I knew before you got home._

_This world you're in now,_

_It doesn't have to be alone. _

_I'll get there somehow._

_I know, I know, I know_

_When even springtime feels cold._

Her cheeks felt cold from the wind softly blowing on the wet streaks down her face. Arms snaked to hold onto Quinn like a life raft. When she closed her eyes, Santana could pretend she was somewhere else, some_one_ else.

Quinn tried to level her voice, though she felt her ache for the brunette cracking. The grip around her body tightened and she pulled Santana closer. Maybe if she could just hold her long enough, close enough, her body would perform some sort of osmosis and let her absorb some of what Santana seemed to be carrying on her own.

_But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see_

_So we can both be there and we can both share the dark,_

_And in our honesty, together we will rise out of the nightminds _

_And into the light at the end of the fight._

And then the song was over, leaving the air around them unbearably silent. Santana was left unaccountably cold, like all the warmth existed only when Quinn's voice sang softly, angelically. She gazed out, beyond the railings. The town lights reflected the sparkling stars above them. There were too many thoughts in Santana's head, getting jumbled so that all the little pieces couldn't make a cohesive picture. Her brain short-circuited, unable to connect the dots laid out by the facts. The wind blew cold waves of breezes on her swollen eyes. The recent conversation, coming to her in flashes, brought fresh waves of tears down Santana's face, dripping onto Quinn's shoulder. What she could do seemed almost dazzling a few days ago at the beach. Quinn's hazel-green eyes had focused on her with a glint of admiration; in her gaze, Santana's abilities were almost… glamorous. Even here, in Quinn's arms, she could almost let herself forget how the story really went.

Quinn combed her slender fingers through the brunette's hair, almost black in this twilight. The sharp spice of cinnamon from Santana's skin intoxicated Quinn, leaving her head spinning and slightly breathless. Tears slowly made wet trails down her chest bones. Where Santana could pick out the screaming sirens, the pitter-patter of shoes on pavements miles and miles away, conversations in hushed tones, Quinn heard the silence of nighttime. She breathed out, relieving the silence. Santana was normally fidgety and eager but the girl in her arms was… silent and still, raising Quinn's concerns.

"You want tell me?"

Santana was still, unsure of what or how to articulate. Thoughts crashed into her and left just as quickly.

_I don't want to be alive. I don't want to be me. I don't want this freakshow of a body, whatever it is. I want my life before—_

"Hey," Quinn could almost hear the gears turning in Santana's head, never a good sign these days. Quinn took Santana by the shoulders to face her, cutting off the tirade of insults in Santana's head. Her eyes scanned Santana's face for eye contact but the brunette turned her head away, unable to face her friend's gaze. If she met those hazel eyes, Santana knew she would break and—_I am not in state to be breaking down_. It suddenly dawned how unusual the circumstances were, their friendship transforming into something just as unknown as Santana's body. Goosebumps rose at the realization of her proximity and her body tensed in Quinn's arms, suddenly assaulted by a fear of… _A fear of what?_ Quinn backing out if she knew? Santana's emotions morphing into something unpredictable thanks to being an genetic anomaly? Santana's body suddenly sprouting wings? _It's not like my parents were any example of dedication, _she couldn't help but scoff inwardly. _Not that I blame them_. Infinite possibilities of this conversation rushed forward in her mind, each scenario ending with a look of disgust on Quinn's face when she found out.

There was something more she was scared of. It was a familiar feeling and not a good one. It dulled colors and music for her, gave her bloodshot eyes from keeping her up all night, and drove her to keep running. _How did Charlie Brown put it? "Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love."_ She needed to steer herself.

Santana cleared her throat and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand swiftly as icy rationality took over. She steeled her voice, hardening into a cold voice as she fixed her gaze to the side of Quinn's face. _At least one thing I know I inherited from the Lopez family. _

"Let's go. It's cold."

She stood up briskly, ending any of Quinn's warm, fuzzy feelings.

Quinn winced at the callousness of Santana's sudden shift in mood. She sat a moment longer, an empty cold absence where Santana's body was just a few minutes ago. It was stony and cold as someone yanking blanket covers off in the morning, leaving her to wish for a moment longer.

As she heard Santana climbed down the ladder, something clicked in Quinn's mind: one of the many things she felt, she suddenly recognized the feeling._ Mono no aware_. It came up in her literature somewhere. It was Japanese for a kind of sadness, the wistful, gentle sadness of the impermanence of things. She felt the world she knew shifting under them.

* * *

Jack the Giraffe pillow pet sat on the Santana's bed when she led the way in, Quinn following closely behind. A white envelope with Santana's name was perched against the doll. Next to a duffel bag and Quinn's backpack.

_Right, I invited her to stay_, Santana remembered. Santana walked all the way home, conscious that Quinn was walking beside her but not quite comprehending it. Seeing the pillow pet sitting on the bed made her stop and realize that for the next few days, weeks, however long, she wasn't going to be alone. The feeling in her stomach was either nervousness or gratitude, both something she was unfamiliar with.

Of all the stupid things, she couldn't recall why she had asked Quinn to stay. In Glee, it didn't it didn't seem so stupid. Now, in the wake of a disastrous conversation, Santana wished she could be alone. _If I'm going to be a freakshow, I'd like to at least hide out in a dark cold dungeon. All monsters hang around in caves and stuff. Fucking Batman had a cave to himself. _Why couldn't she? Just as these thoughts crossed her mind, Santana felt something shift inside her, a gut-wrenching change that slowly soaked her body.

Quinn could see her stuff neatly piled on Santana's bed, all the stuff she would need for however long she stayed. She silently thanked Mrs. Lopez for bringing in all her things she completely forgot about in her haste to get to Santana. All but the white envelope. Eyes, more hazel than green in this light, narrowed, trying to remember bringing an envelope before remembering that the Lopez power couple said they would leave Santana one. _Nope, that's definitely not mine_.

But the darker girl stopped so suddenly in front of her, Quinn ran into Santana's backside. She let out a small groan. _Ugh, she's practically made of stone_. Quinn pressed her hands into her arms, massaging what she knew would be a bruise tomorrow. She bruised like a peach.

Santana's eyes snapped in the direction of the small groan, almost feral and aggressive. Quinn looked back at the girl, perplexed by the pained expression taking over her face. Coffee-brown eyes slowly widened to meet a vivid green, as though she couldn't gather what was happening. Santana desperately tried to hold onto that gaze as she felt herself pitching into an unknown state.

She was hearing every atom of air escape Quinn's parted lips, her breath colliding loudly with the air. Not only was her heartbeat pounding like someone took a gong to her ears with a hammer, but she could hear Quinn's ringing just as loudly. Instead of being soothed by the steady beat, Santana felt herself crumbling at the heavy beating of the sound. The rustle of their clothes screeched, each fiber scraping loudly against each other as Quinn moved towards her. She could hear her say something but couldn't process the words under the sound of clamor suddenly rising around her. One arm reached out for the blonde, one arm landed in front of her, trying to stop the ground from rushing up too fast as Santana crumpled forward.

There was shrieking from sixteen houses away that Santana could hear as though the woman was screaming from two inches in front of her face. Each blade of grass scraped harshly against each other. Beetles, ants, and every living underground insect crunched the ground as they moved. Somewhere, cities away, a construction worker's jackhammer reverberated loudly in Santana's ears. Conversations faded in and out, things she shouldn't be hearing, words in conversations spilled so far away that they crossed oceans to reach Santana, only to find a girl who couldn't in fact speak Farsi, Italian, Korean, Japanese. The whole world was bursting at the seams with uproar. In this diminishing, crumpling state, Santana heard her mother's words echo about… _what was that? Oh yeah, unpredictable changes_.

Quinn reached out, catching Santana as the small girl pitched forward, landing heavily into Quinn's arms as she slowly brought them down, sliding down the doorway. The blonde leaned back into the doorway, Santana wrapped in her arms. Those deep dark brown eyes that seemed to have no end to their depth looked at Quinn but didn't really see her. For once, her eyes didn't stab through Quinn's guard with fierceness but was glazed over, like Santana was trying to block the world out. Her brow knitted together in concern and confusion as those eyes became clouded and unreadable before Santana's lids scrunched shut, to shut out everything, anything, whatever she could.

Santana shut her eyes tightly, releasing into a darkness that was cold and thankfully, silent. So _blissfully_ silent. The last thing she thought was, _Please don't leave me._ She just wasn't sure who she was asking to stay.

* * *

One corner of the envelope dug into Quinn's right palm, the opposite corner in her other palm. The envelope suspended between her palms, slowly spun. The addressee, _Santana_, flashed as the back and front of the envelope flashed back and forth in its spin.

Quinn mulled over the weight of the envelope. It didn't seem too heavy but… it may explain what Santana already knew. She was holding back, Quinn could feel it. One moment, she was vulnerable and open; suddenly, stony walls built up and the girl became wary. It was tempting to rip it open and read it but…she looked over the girl curled up in a ball next to her. _Trust_, Quinn thought as she shook her head. _Trust that Santana will tell in time._

After Santana collapsed, Quinn caught her in her arms and held her as long as she could, pins and needles prickling in her unmoving, numb legs that bore the most of Santana's weight. She wasn't heavy but Quinn let herself sit there in that moment, a long moment in which she lost track of time. Her arms, strong from Cheerios strength training, easily and swiftly picked up the darker girl and placed her on the bed. Hands carefully tugged Santana's clothes and shoes off, stripping her down to a simple bra and underwear. Santana would rather be in less clothes in bed, she knew and Quinn wasn't really going to wake Santana just to dress her for bed, especially when it was hard for the girl to sleep these days.

She couldn't stop herself from scanning Santana's body, showing more than it was hiding. Her hand unconsciously reached out, palm hovering millimeters above her body. It never touched, but the heat of her palm met the heat of Santana's body. A smooth bronze tone. Delicate collarbones giving way to Santana's chest, slowly rising and falling with a deep, troubled breath. One finger descended, tracing a slow line from Santana's sternum down to a tight stomach, tensing under her touch. She couldn't stop herself from moving closer to the girl. Her eyes stayed on her as Quinn pulled a baggy shirt and sweatpants from her duffel bag and dressed into it. In comfortable clothes, she got under the sheets, pulling it over both their bodies. The blonde faced Santana, grateful to be able to stare without having her stare back or feel uncomfortable. This feeling of want, this _need_, was unnerving. _What's happening?_ Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't a normal affection for a friend.

A frown on Santana's forehead, a graffiti of sad and troubled mind. Her hands bunched up the sheets as she unconsciously clenched her hands into fists. Quinn brought her finger to the center of that forehead, placing it gently. She watched, surprised and pleased to see the tension instantly release under her, smoothing out the darker girl's face. Santana's hands released the wrinkled sheets. Something close to serenity settled onto her face.

Quinn couldn't sleep that night, save for a few restless hours. Her body kept waking up, insisting on watching over Santana, who slept surprisingly soundly. The warm body next to her was a familiar feeling, not because Quinn slept with someone every night. In fact, she hadn't been with anyone since…Puck and well, that turned out… unexpected. But no, Santana's body felt familiar to her, the curves fitting into her own, their bodies like two puzzle pieces that didn't touch but when you looked, you know they would fit perfectly. Quinn would occasionally experience an overwhelming urge to reach a hand behind the brunette's neck and kiss her gently but she was content to sit torturously close to her best friend.

Santana stirred gently every so often, her arms moving places, her knees pulling up to her chest. Tension came and left as it pleased, wandering around the sleeping girl aimlessly, always eased by Quinn's touch to her forehead.

* * *

It seemed unfair that Santana constantly seemed to be waking up to something very disturbingly similar to a hangover even though she hadn't had a drink in forever. The entire spectrum of light splayed across her thin eyelids, reaching her before she even opened her eyes. She moved to her side, eyes still shut, trying to hold onto the last wisps of sleep.

Faint rustles of the sheet reached her ears, finally down from last night's screeching and shrieking to a bearable volume. Her eyes flew open as Santana realized that she wasn't alone. Quinn was beside her, sitting upright and staring intensely at an envelope in her hands. Santana took it all in, committing the snapshot to her memory before Quinn knew she was awake. The way that the rays of morning light bounced off her hair to make a golden sheen, almost white. Her teeth biting into her bottom lip, eyes narrowed on the object in her hands. Perfect almond-shaped emerald green eyes with tiny specks of gold flickered in her eyes. Her fingers lightly touched the envelope once every few revolutions, spinning it slowly. She was pure, just pure. Concentration radiated beautifully off of Quinn, Santana noticed without meaning to.

Santana was scared yesterday night, immobilized by her terror of Quinn or how capable Quinn was of shattering her into pieces. Now, faced with the actual spectacle, this angelic spectacle, she reconsidered the fear.

"What is that?" A husky morning voice jerked Quinn from her thoughts, a smile instantly forming on her lips. Quinn let the small smile linger when her eyes found the brunette waking up next to her with a lazy grin and perfect bedhead, long black hair swirled around her shoulders. _How do you look so good when you wake up?_ Quinn asked silently.

"Morning, sunshine," Quinn let out lightly, putting the envelope down. Santana's eyes followed the envelope. She shifted to perch her head on Quinn's closer knee, peering at the envelope curiously. Quinn glanced back at the envelope, following Santana's gaze. Yesterday's walls seemed to have disappeared, the brunette acting more careless about guarding her emotions in the early morning.

As she shifted under the sheets, Santana was suddenly aware of how little she was wearing under the sheets. It's not like she's one to be uncomfortable about her body but being only a few inches from Quinn's body, she felt everything slide against her bare skin. She pulled the sheets up around her as Quinn realized what she was finally recognizing. Quinn looked down, a crimson blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks, and coughed. "You passed out last night. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay." Santana relaxed, feeling more at ease, knowing she couldn't see under the sheets. "I just didn't… know." Quinn couldn't help look at the girl and scan her now-covered body before glancing away. Santana quirked an eyebrow, smirking at the sight of the blushing girl.

Quinn spoke, hesitant. "Are you okay?" She didn't specify but Santana knew what she was talking about. People don't just collapse without reason. There's always a reason.

Santana didn't want to get into it. _Enough tears_, she shook her head. Just one day of not being a freak or remembering she was...whatever she was. With one hand, she waved away the matter. "Yeah, just overwhelmed." She cleared her throat, not wanting to getting to it. Quinn knew better than to push; the girl could be stubborn as hell but she lives at her own pace and eventually, they would get there. Quinn knew. Santana was her person and Quinn was Santana's person. No judgement, no criticism that wasn't constructive, listen. There were a few unwritten laws of their inexplicable friendship they carefully lived by.

"Anyway, what is that?" Santana looked pointedly at the envelope in her hands. Quinn blinked, trying to gather herself in the moment.

"Your parents had to leave," Quinn spoke slowly and cautiously. It was like walking on eggshells, to want to save someone from heartache. Even so, Santana's anxiety radiated off of her body, signs of tension taking their usual spaces on her body. Dark eyes narrowed at the envelope, her brows furrowed, the skin over her knuckles turning white as she clenched her hands. "They needed to go back and they wanted me to tell you that they would leave a letter for you."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to hand over such a destructive letter to Santana.

Santana got up, not wanting to see the letter. "I'll be back." Completely forgetting how little was wearing, she made her way to the bathroom. Quinn tried to keep her eyes casted down but she couldn't help steal a look at the bronze body, toned and barely covered, walking away from her.

Santana didn't bother to close the door. Santana turned on the water loudly, squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush before jamming into her mouth. Her brush bristled loudly, the water ran loudly. When she reached down to splash water on her face, she couldn't feel her tears that silently spilled.

Yesterday came back to Santana in pieces, slowly enough that she could understand it finally. Her eyes jumped around, mentally mapping out the flood of facts. _So I'm not exactly a Lopez. Or human. Where am I going? Or where am I from? Lara Amaral, who is she? _

Her thoughts and questions continued as she absentmindedly dried her face and wandered back to where Quinn sat. Small caramel hands reached for the sheets, lifting them enough to let Santana crawl back onto her side facing Quinn. She watched Quinn stare at the envelope, but let her own thoughts wander. Each fact she learned yesterday hit her hard, jolting her each time. _Those papers are supposed to be about me. Why am I unpredictable? How will I change? What can I really do? What went wrong in the lab? If she needed to save one…what happened to the others? Where is this –_

"Don't do that," Quinn exhaled sharply, glancing at the stoic expression on Santana's face before returning a glare to her hands. Santana was looking at her but didn't see her until Quinn had spoken, yanking her from her thoughts back to this moment. She raised her eyebrows in question, not sure of what she was doing wrong. The sun was barely up and Santana had already offended the blonde. _What's up her ass?_ She wanted to snap back. Quinn's source of irritation came from her next words: "Don't shut me out."

Quinn looked up from her hands, finally facing Santana. It was only a flicker, fleeting before it got there but Santana was sure she saw it: there was a truth of Quinn's feelings that shined for a moment, hidden in shades of greens and hazel, an immense depth of concern and something that Santana couldn't quite recognize.

Santana let her jaw drop just the slightest as she let herself go into irrational places of her mind. Quinn _cared_, a concept completely foreign to her. Her shoulders deflated slightly, acknowledging a sudden fact: Santana didn't know how much she needed to have someone that she might be able to say everything to. People would have listened but it was different with Quinn. Quinn had a magnetic pull, carefully coaxing out the hardest things to admit. Gravity pulled them down towards the center of the Earth but Quinn moved with her own gravity, drawing Santana into her, always towards her. But Santana would quickly be overwhelmed with fear. When she looked at Quinn gazing back, a desire clouding those hazel eyes, she remembered words like a song she heard somewhere long ago: "If it didn't hurt so much, I might be able to talk about it." Santana hesitate for a moment, aching at the depth of Quinn's affection. It hurt to be loved so much because Santana felt herself spinning out of control. Her soul was sliced open to be read by the girl in front of her and it hurt, her body _ached_, to let someone else hold the delicate parts of her, know the soft and tender spots where she could be pierced. To love and be loved almost hurt as much as to not be loved.

Quinn softly murmured, "Don't shut me out. Let me help you…" Her words trailed off. Quiet as they were, they hit Santana like a bag of bricks. Santana nodded, unable to refuse.

"They tried to explain it, Q," Santana started hoarsely. She turned, shifting onto her back, eyes casted at the ceiling. One arm reached around to pull the pillow below her head.

Quinn slid down the bed, bringing her eyes down to Santana's level, watching her profile as she waited for Santana to continue. She stared, perched on one arm. The urge to touch Santana, to feel her warmth, her body, overwhelmed Quinn for a moment.

"Someone gave me to them. I'm not their daughter." Santana felt a sting in the back of her eyes, a film of tears already prepared release a flood. She let out a humorless laugh as she realized she cried more in the past few weeks than she had in her whole life. _Unpredictable changes, pfft._ "This lab researcher gave me to them because… I think she needed to save me from something. Maybe someone."

"I think… I think I'm an experiment. I came with a pamphlet, at least. Or you know, a shit ton of folders that was supposed to help explain…me." Ragged breaths punctured her monologue. Quinn remembered the stack of folders they found, knowing what Santana was referring to. Her chest ached when she saw a stray tear escape the corner of Santana's eye, falling onto her raven-black hair.

"They owed her for saving my mom and I was the price," Santana spat out, unable to degrade herself lower than that. "They didn't even want me. I was an obligation, nobody wanted me. Someone tried to _kill _me." Her breath hitched as she choked back a sob. Santana's voice dropped, her tone breaking under the weight of her thoughts.

Quinn felt herself softening, aching, breaking, shattering at the animosity in Santana's words. Her tone flooded with malice, not at Quinn but at herself. Quinn felt self-hatred rolling off the beautiful girl in front of her. Santana was an extraordinary beauty, even Quinn knew it. But to most people, she was beautiful like a forest fire, something you admired from a distance but not up close. It was different for Quinn. When she heard the tremors of dangerous emotions in Santana's voice and saw the start of a raging forest fire, Quinn ran out to meet it, arms open. If Santana was a forest fire, Quinn was the pyromaniac that stood in the middle of it, licked by the hypnotizing flames. She couldn't imagine loving her any less; it was impossible to fathom what that would be like.

She reached out her hand, using her thumb to brush back a stray strand of hair from Santana's forehead. Santana closed her eyes at the touch, chills shooting down from the touch through her spine.

"Maybe—maybe I can find some answers… if only I can find her, Lara Amaral." She breathed the name, letting it roll off her tongue. It was familiar, like she knew it once. Santana let out a shaky sigh, unable to place the familiar name. A pause stuck in the air, taking up the time between Santana's thoughts.

"I'm sorry." The apology came out softly from Santana's mouth, almost too quiet to be noticed. "I didn't mean to… shut you out."

She turned to face Quinn, their bodies making closed parentheses, almost touching.

"I'm sorry," she murmured sadly. She gazed into Quinn's eyes, losing herself in her guilt and the shades of green, jade, olive, hazel, amber, gold looking back at her.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

She let the apology drop over and over, feeling guilt wash through her for being such a burden. Quinn watched her close her eyes, spilling apologies from her lips. She ached, inside and out, watching such an exquisite person apologize for who she was. Santana wouldn't open her eyes and look back, refusing to accept anything from Quinn.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry." Santana couldn't stop herself, letting tears drop with each apology.

But Santana was sorry for more than one thing. She was sorry that she was a burden. She was sorry she couldn't be better, a better friend, a better person. She was sorry that she dragged enough emotional baggage to last her several lifetimes and then some. She was sorry to be an obligation, a price to pay for her mother's life. Santana didn't want to breathe, she wanted everything to stop. Her guilt, her anxiety, her sadness seeped from every pore, into every thought, every movement.

Quinn wanted to stem it, stop it from overwhelming the person in front of her. In a moment, she finally put her finger on what she couldn't understand. It was masked with concern and worry but seeing Santana be vulnerable and then build her walls up and then tear them down, she knew what it was. It wasn't the friendship she loved. It was the girl.

Santana felt the air change just as soft lips pressed against her temple, a hand pressing softly against the other temple. Quinn pressed her hand against the other side of Santana's head, kissing her forehead. She kissed her closed eyes, slightly warm from crying. She kissed her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears. She pressed her lips against the corner of the mouth, slowly sliding across to press firmly into Santana's lips, bringing the sweet taste of jasmine. Long breaths brushed her face as she slowly kissed her jawline. Light lips feathered down her neck before firmly pressing onto her lips, like a final statement that said, "No, you're not allowed to argue this." Her slender legs slowly crossed the bed to straighten out over Santana's body, Quinn's body lying on top of Santana's. One hand dragged through Santana's hair, another traced down the side of her body. Santana reached around, pulling Quinn into her own space. Quinn felt Santana's heart race under her own in their pressed chests.

These kisses were different. It wasn't like their first kiss when Santana told her about what she could do; that was a comfort kiss. It wasn't like their second kiss when Quinn found her with the stack of folders; that was a lust-filled kiss. Something ancient, great, and unknown lived in these kisses, clocks turning backwards as their lips met. She kissed her once, she kissed her twice. Quinn kissed Santana for each time that she said I'm sorry.

The taste of cinnamon and toothpaste left Quinn's lungs burning, aching for more. Her nails raked from the side of Santana's rib, up her arm, and along her jawline, leaving a trail of goosebumps. The room was hot but she felt Santana tremble and shiver under her. Santana let the tears fall, hurting from the immensity of loving too much, her heart caving in her wants and needs and having them fulfilled.

Quinn pulled back entirely, propping herself onto her elbows with her face hover inches above Santana's. Their eyes were so close, gazes intense. Santana tucked the strands of blond hair behind Quinn's ear with light fingers. She was right here with Quinn but felt so far away, just because she was so different. Different in a way that she didn't even know existed, yet. Even so, there was a pure, delicate disbelief at the unimagined possibility of love. Of Quinn's love.

Quinn reached over and grabbed the envelope. She made her way back on top of Santana, her legs resting between Santana's, her arms pressed against Santana's sides as she held the envelope in her hands.

"Read it. Burn it," Quinn placed her lips on Santana's forehead. "But you'll get through this. And I'll be with you. You don't ever have to apologize for who you are."

* * *

_To my darling Santana,_

_I'm sorry your mother and I have to leave so soon after we dropped this news to you. We never meant to lie to you or hurt you if we did. We loved you very much and we still do. This doesn't change the fact that you are our daughter, through and through. I know these are trying times and your mother and I have always trusted you to use your own judgment because we trusted ourselves when we took you in and have never regretted having you for our daughter. Though our distance may say otherwise, please do not ever doubt that we, your parents, love you. _

An address was scrawled between this paragraph and the next.

_This is the last address we know of Lara's. If you need to go see her, we understand. We will be there for you in the ways we can, financially, emotionally. We are a phone call away if you need us. _

_We fell in love with you the moment we saw you, my dear daughter. We never hesitated to take you, though we knew that changes would happen and we wouldn't know how to deal with them. We didn't know you like we should have and we let go of everything that we understood about the world the night you came to us. I hope, that one day, you have the experience of sacrificing the things you know for someone you love and the great adventure they could take you through. _

_With all my heart,_

_Your father_

* * *

Thanks all for reading :) The song in this chapter is called Nightminds by Missy Higgins. Amazing song so if you get a chance, listen to it.

It's so good to hear your feedback and what you guys want from this story and I'm glad you guys are enjoying it. Let me know what you think and leave a review!

As always, happy reading!


	14. I: A Special Kind of Hell For Us

Chapter 14: A Special Kind of Hell For Us

* * *

"You're graduating so soon," Brittany said sadly as she casted her eyes down while fingering the small backpack zipper. Santana grinned, excited for the next few months that would quickly end high school torture. She didn't have a plan but really, who ever did? No one really plans their life out. The day after tomorrow was the start of spring break, leaving her to do whatever she wanted. And then summer meant she was done with high school with a few acceptance letters tucked away in her bedroom. She shrugged when they came, not surprised and not too excited but now, the thought of freedom was delicious. But the sad puppy look on Brittany's face made smile quickly drop from her face.

"D'awwww," Santana cooed as she reached over and pulled Brittany around her neck into a hug, the taller blonde crouching just the slightest in her embrace. "Britt-Britt, don't be like that. You're stuck with me for life!"

Brittany's face brightened at the thought, her smile spreading across her face and reaching to sparkle in her eyes.

"When I get out of Lima, you'll finish up," Santana grinned. "And then you can move out to where I am!" She pulled away and poked a finger into Brittany's dimpled cheek. Brittany let Santana's confidence infect her. If Santana wasn't worried about being far away, she wouldn't be either. She stuck out a pinky. Santana quickly hooked her finger, their everyday promise.

The brunette pulled her by her pinky, calling out to the girl trailing behind, "Come on! We're young, fun and hot." Santana looked back to wink at the blonde. "And soon to be late to class!"

With locked fingers, they walked off to Glee. Brittany was practically bouncing behind strutting Latina. The wave of students parted as Santana's glare fell upon them.

Another blonde not too far away smiled endearingly at the sight of her two best friends.

* * *

Quinn recognized the only other car left behind in the parking lot. The sleek black car, Santana's 16th birthday present, was covered in a thin coat of dirt, like it hadn't been moved in awhile. When she walked up to the driver's window, a wave of concern washed over her; Santana sat inside, catatonically staring at her steering wheel, hands at two and ten on the wheel. Quinn hesitated, not wanting to startle the girl.

The leather wheel felt unfamiliar to Santana, making small squeaks as she gripped it tightly. _It's been so long,_ Santana couldn't remember the last time she drove the car. Her day had gone so well, having aced tests (despite how effortless it was), praised by Coach Sylvester for her newfound speed, and rocked out a killer rendition of a song in Glee – even Berry commented on it. She was flying high (so to speak), uncontrollably happy but –as fast as a finger snap – she was reminded by the smallest things of her circumstance. Like this damn steering wheel for example. _How long has it been since I drove?_ A long time, since she didn't quite need it anymore. It reminded her of the address scrawled in a letter tucked away. It reminded her of a life she needed to return to, one that Quinn had given temporary relief from.

Quinn stuck with her since she sat faithfully next to her while Santana read her father's letter. She handed the letter over to Quinn, silently giving her permission to read it, as she got up to start her day. Over the next few days, they fell into a comfortable routine, trying to restore some sort of normalcy to their life. They went to school, the brunette sometimes taking a run to school while Quinn drove but Santana always arriving before her. Other days, they drove together. They took turns making meals, neither claiming a specific meal to cook but just picking up on cues and falling into a smooth rhythm. Santana usually made breakfast because she didn't sleep well so she got up early. Quinn made dinners, more comfortable with the space of a new home in the comfort of night. At night, they always drank tea on the little blanket fortress they built in the ballroom. It was Quinn's favorite tea, a mix of jasmine, green tea and something that made it seemed fresh, almost citrus but not. It was floral, it was fresh, it was comforting. A jar of it showed up one day in the kitchen counter. She didn't know Santana had made a run to India (several runs, actually) to find a tea that seemed to speak to Quinn. When Santana tried this one under the canvas canopy of booth set up in a street in India, she felt Quinn with her. She bought a jar of it without hesitating, the name scrawled on a label so she would always be able to find it whenever she came back. Quinn just picked up on it later on as she examined the label, recognizing the script from one of the paintings she studied. She couldn't read the Hindi letters but recognized them. They built a small sweet life together, tucked away from genetic labs and high school.

_Quinn is reliable, among many things_, Santana mused. Being emotional, making a scene, feeling those highs and lows made things seemed like they mattered but being reliable, being there for someone, it _showed_ that things mattered. In the consistencies and absences that reigned Santana's life, she came crave that kind of reliability that Quinn offered simply.

Quinn made it comfortable and easier for her to be happy but some days, it only took the feel of a leather steering wheel to be reminded of her complex "situation". Facts did not cease to exist because she decided to ignore them.

_Knock, knock._ Soft knocks on her window woke her from her thoughts. An angelic face peered in through the window.

The window made a soft _zzzzz_ as she rolled down the window. Quinn leaned in through the open space, bringing in a freshness that only Quinn could give. Quinn lightly pecked her cheek in greeting, making the girl blush and glance around the parking lot. They were the only ones there. _How long have I been sitting here?_

Quinn smiled, enjoying a reserved Santana. "You going home?" Santana nodded, her hair bobbing lightly. "Can I catch her ride with you? I missed my ride with Tina for my make-up essay."

The _click_ of car doors indicated a wordless yes. Quinn walked around to the passenger side, swooping in with all the freshness of crisp air and jasmine. Santana let her grip on the wheel to start her engine. _Sigh._ Santana felt tired before she even moved the car.

* * *

Long legs stretched across the couch, distracting Santana from the research paper on genetic anomalies in the cerebellum she was reading from her lap. A spoonful of vanilla yogurt hovered mid-air, completely stuck while Santana's gaze fixed on Quinn's legs. The blonde didn't even notice, writing notes for her paper. Her pen scratched against the paper, the only sounds in Santana's house. Once in a while, Santana would be hypnotized by the beauty almost literally radiating off of the blonde. Granted, the paper wasn't doing much to grab Santana's attention.

She read somewhere once that exceptionally beautiful people were like really ugly people: after awhile, you got used to it. Whoever wrote that clearly never met Quinn. Each time she saw Quinn, colors were more vivid on her, hair shimmering a particular shade of golden, green eyes sparkling with the smallest shards of hazel that only Santana could notice. Her milky skin occasionally painted with flushes of pink. Pearly white teeth bit Quinn's lower lip as Quinn concentrated. In these moments, she was grateful for the enhanced vision she seemed to be gifted with. This blonde was not something to get used to. It still surprised her every time, no matter how long she stared. When she was caught staring, though, she looked away embarrassed.

She just didn't know how Quinn felt.

Quinn noticed the bronze of Santana's skin, the fresh scent of spearmint lightly floating around her. Sometimes, she could smell even jasmine on Santana's skin from the time they spent closely, the tea they drank. The way her legs flexed as she stretched in bed and caught the light in the small dips and curves. How the light captured in the lines and shadows of her face, prominent cheekbones and sharp jawline. Her eyes caught Quinn's gaze every time and she had to hold back from getting lost in them. Santana sometimes licked her lips while reading. Quinn had to take slow breaths to slow her heart from pounding its way out of her chest.

But Quinn noticed changes, too, changes that Santana couldn't tell without being outside of her body. At first, she thought maybe it was just what her parents had said was making Quinn paranoid but there were definitely changes. Like, sometimes, in bed, Quinn had to shift away from the body lying next to her for a little bit because Santana's body heated up so much. There were times when Santana was doing her homework at her own speed, which was too fast. She breezed through her books, not noticing the short amount of time it took to read it. The first time, Quinn heard a soft fanning of pages. The next time she heard it, she glanced and saw that Santana was actually able to read out of those pages she flipped through so quickly. She didn't seem to notice that speed she raced through her work. At night, Santana would always drape her arm across Quinn's waist from behind her when they unconsciously spooned while sleeping. Late at night, into the dawn, she'd wake up because the arm clenched tightly, almost hurting the delicate blonde. Santana would be pressed tightly against her back, their bodies finding their way to each other in the dark veil of night, Santana's breath shallow as she battled demons in her sleep. Quinn turned to hug her while Santana fought out her nightmares. The vice grip, sometimes, left faint trails of bruises across her stomach. Quinn bruised like a peach.

The brunette got used to waking up with her head on Quinn's chest, chest pressed against Quinn's side, arm draped across her waist. Sometimes, she'd wake up before Quinn and let herself gaze at the girl, feeling the steady rise and fall of the blonde's chest as she breathed deeply in her sleep. Sometimes, she felt hazel eyes on her as she woke up.

Their lives synced into a steady, comforting rhythm and Santana appreciated not being alone for a change.

But the legs were a little distracting.

A small smile played on Quinn's lips when she felt Santana's gaze scan her, from her legs to her face. Santana was fascinated as she watched creamy skin flush pink with shyness that didn't reach Quinn's expressions.

"What?" Quinn didn't look up but addressed the gaze.

Santana didn't respond. What would she even say? She just smiled at the blonde who couldn't meet her eyes. The brunette lifted herself off the couch, coming over to Quinn and flopped herself against her legs, chin perched on Quinn's knees as she stared at her, grinning stupidly without a reason. Quinn was reason enough.

Quinn watched Santana watch her back. Her eyes were so dark and glittery, like black marbles. The blonde lost herself in her eyes. From afar, Santana's eyes looked ordinary but up close, Quinn could appreciate the shades of dark brown, hitting the full range of brown, hazel, amber, topaz almost in the dark black of her eyes. If she brought her face close, she could make out the smallest specks of gold, but only if she were close enough to feel Santana's breath on her lips.

Santana gazed intently at the blonde. "I want to tell Brittany."

Quinn glanced up from her pen and paper, her pen pressing slightly onto her bottom lip to make a small dent. Santana wanted to press her lips against that dent when Quinn responded, "Hmmm?"

"I want to tell Brittany about me." Santana rolled over to look at the ceiling, the back of her head resting on Quinn's calves. The two of their bodies stretched the span of those white half-dome sofas, bodies of cream and coffee weaving just in the middle. "I mean, not about all the freaky lab parts but—"Santana almost hesitated to say this, in light of how she had been feeling lately. "—more of the fun parts. You know, being able to fly…sort of. Or whatever I can do. Maybe I can hitch both of you on my back and we can run away."

Santana rolled back to face Quinn, a grin plastered on her face with her chin back on Quinn's. She let the silly ideas run away with her when she started. "We should find out what I can do!"

* * *

The Unholy Trinity was a trinity because they needed each other to maintain a perfect equilibrium in their life. Too much of Quinn, too much of Santana, or too much of Brittany would chuck the three into chaos and the high school would have hell to pay.

Santana was made of extremes. Her presence was fierce, commanding everyone's attention with an intensity that was feared and intimidating. The few who were blessed to be part of her inner circle knew a side that loved as fiercely as she hated. She drove the Unholy Trinity to new heights, pushing and sometimes aggravating aggressively. She would force the Trinity out of Lima, ready to take the world by a storm and leave a hurricane in her absence. She was a deep person because she felt things deeply, into her skin, muscles, and bones. The girl wanted danger, goodness, sin, vices, freedom, lust, love but when it happened to her, it was terrifyingly overwhelming. Still, she drove on, head first into life, prisoner to her own ways.

Quinn was level, enough to balance Santana. Unlike Santana, she made sure they didn't overstep when Santana's intensity became trouble. She reigned with a calm composure and a great understanding of people. It was easy to when she knew how to read people and what made a person tremble. She knew what she _didn't_ want, which, in high school, is way ahead of other kids. She loved just as much as she needed to because… she's Quinn and Quinn is in control. Always. Santana helped because sometimes, Quinn would get to comfortable; Santana always forged forward with change, making sure that Quinn never stayed stagnant or hit a plateau.

Quinn was enough to calm Santana and Santana was enough to drive Quinn but they were both intense beings.

But Brittany was the bright light. Or the unicorn, as she often put it. Her hair and skin were probably made of sunshine because she shined, glowed, and beamed with innocence. Santana and Quinn were constantly moving forward and in that headstrong movement, they forgot to have fun sometimes; Brittany always reminded them of their inner child. She gave love as freely as she accepted it, never questioning it. Sweet and innocent, something the world lacks. But it was up to Quinn and Santana to protect her in the wake of her naïve trust in people, two people who would crack nuts and rip souls of those who try to hurt Brittany. Someone had to protect the girl or she'd take the world as it is, face value.

If they were all cars, Santana would be a red Ferrari with no speedometer and worn out brakes. Her tires would be made for fast and sudden acceleration and she'd have no muffler; you could hear her tires screeching from miles away. She would never follow speed limits.

Quinn would be something like a Camry or Accord, reliable and sturdy. She'd be sensible and eco-friendly, ready to travel long distances at a steady pace. Probably dark charcoal grey, just so that you would be constantly surprised by how good she could be.

Brittany would be the yellow buggy, bright and made you smile when you saw her. The honk would be bouncy and light. Probably to the melody of Jingle Bells.

And the two of them needed a balance of fun and smiles, giggles and snorts, especially after these past few weeks.

* * *

Santana reached her hand for Quinn's hand resting on the couch, slowly intertwining them. She weaved and unweaved it absent-mindedly. She couldn't look at Quinn because… well, it should be a damn crime for one person to look that good. Her train of thought wouldn't just stop but it'd reel off the damn rails and plunge into some godforsaken path. Probably end up Narnia. But her hands, their hands. This felt right in a way that she knew for a long time but only recognized recently, something in her that had been patiently dormant until recent events.

Santana couldn't decide what they were. They were too close, too tangled up in each other to be _just_ friends but Quinn gave no indication that anything changed. She behaved like they always had kissed. Which they did but that was different. _This_ was different. They kissed before to impress boys, to show off. Now they kissed to find each other, to find themselves in each other. Their lips touched and met for their own desires and needs, like they needed to meld into one person, one soul for moments of the day to soothe a separation anxiety. Apart, Santana felt like something was missing, an arm, a leg. Quinn was as essential to her well-being as the air in her lungs. Something that unnoticed but absolutely, indisputably necessary.

"You're my person." Quinn's heart fluttered at the words. Santana continued, "And I don't want to drag Brittany into the special kind of hell that I'm probably going to," Quinn frowned; if hell had someone this amazing, Quinn was sure she'd ask to be sent there, too. Was that even allowed? Could you ask to be sent to hell? "But I think she can know a little bit. We can still have fun, right?"

Santana looked back at her with a hopeful expression.

Quinn all but melted at the hope etched across her face. Who was she to crush anyone's hope? Quinn swept forward and caught Santana's full, soft lips in one quick kiss. Not that Santana really needed her blessing but it was sweet that she asked.

* * *

"So, B," Santana didn't know how to say it. Or what it is that she wanted to say. Just something about what she was capable of made her feel like maybe she can enjoy this, even just for a little bit before delving all up in Lara Amaral's business.

They were at the top of the water tower, like before. It seemed appropriate, considering that Santana's exploration and Quinn's discovery happened here. It made some sort of sick sense. Quinn held Brittany by the elbow, watching Santana lean against the railing and reliving her own disturbingly vivid flashbacks to when she first saw Santana like this.

The thought that Santana might be _dead_.

Quinn, without Santana.

The silhouette of her still body on the ground below.

That fear that pumped loads of adrenaline into her blood stream.

Gasping for air, unable to inhale in between her sobs.

Quinn had to hold onto Brittany, her touch reassuring the taller blonde in this outing. But she was holding on Brittany to reassure herself just as much as she needed to comfort Brittany. Santana looked at Quinn for help, unsure of how to say it without saying it scientifically or painting herself as a freak.

"B, remember why you're our unicorn?" Quinn stepped forward in front of Brittany and faced her, reaching out to tuck a strand of stray blonde hair from Brittany's face as Quinn held her ground between the blonde and brunette. Brittany nodded, a confused expression still on her face.

"Because I'm special," she replied easily. "You said I'm different because I'm happy and it's easy for me to be happy." Brittany never doubted her friends' words. There was no point in an ulterior motive with Brittany because she was so upfront with her emotions; it really was what separated her from Quinn, Santana and pretty much everyone else in the world. She didn't get bogged down by the little stuff that makes you want to manipulate people, like jealousy or fear. Brittany simply was Brittany. "It makes me special."

"Well, S is a unicorn, too," Quinn glanced at Santana, who nodded along. This explanation seemed to make sense to Brittany, whose eyes brightened. "She's special, in a different way."

Santana swung her leg over the railing to those words, ready to show just how special she was. Brittany's brows stitched together quickly with concern. Her best friend was teetering dangerously over the edge! Why wasn't Quinn doing anything?!

Brittany reached forward, trying to pull Santana back, but Quinn was facing her and holding her back in a hug. Her arms stretched over Quinn's shoulders, trying to grasp at the brunette just inches away.

"It's okay," Quinn breathed into Brittany's ear just as Santana jumped off the railing. Brittany's heart stopped for a moment, the weight of fear crashing into her for the first time. Quinn felt the girl's heart race in their embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around Brittany's waist. Santana… just leapt off.

Except she didn't go anywhere. Quinn could feel the astonishment emanate off Brittany.

Santana floated as though she was still standing on the platform, even though her feet were a good three feet away it. Slowly, she floated back towards the platform, gingerly stepping onto it. She looked at Brittany, smiling hopefully.

Brittany's face fell into a familiar surprised look, wide eyes and high eyebrows. _Santana…_ Words didn't even make sentences in her mind as she tried to understand what just happened. A pause hung in the air while Quinn continued to hug Brittany, the taller blonde's arms now dropping to sling over her shoulders, Brittany's fingers grazing Santana's cheek now at her fingertips.

The pause lingered as Santana waited for Brittany's response.

A grin broke across Brittany's face. "You're a flying unicorn!" She clapped her hands. Quinn chuckled at her reaction. It was just so Brittany. "You're Pegasus!"

Laughter and relief bubbled up from Santana's throat, escaping lightly into the air. Santana threw herself at the two girls, wrapping her arms around the two of them as they sandwiched Quinn. She felt Bob Marley's words escape from Quinn's mouth, her humming vibrating against their pressed bodies:

_Every little thing is gonna be alright_.

* * *

Santana's hand shook in her grip as the two of them stood in front of the address Santana's parents pointed them to. The blue folder crinkled slightly in Santana's other hand, her grasp tight with tension. They decided not to drive, seeing as it would have been several hours wasted if they did. Lara Amaral, it seemed, lived so far outside of Lima, Santana was suspicious that it wasn't even in Ohio anymore, despite what Google maps says. Instead, Quinn jumped on Santana's back, feeling secured as her arms gripped tightly around Quinn's legs. Flying wasn't really an option since it was rather unpredictable, even without unaccounted weight. She ran as fast as any plane could fly, anyway.

In the days that followed the one when they told Brittany, Santana felt happier than she had been in a long time, side-stitch-squealing happy. Brittany bounced along, holding Quinn and Santana's hand happily in the hallways. When spring break started, Brittany slept over in their little blanket fortress in the ball room for awhile. At night, they lit candles and watched Brittany dance, her body moving in lightyears ahead of her mind. The shadows casted on the walls gave the impression of a dance company following her steps. Brittany insisted on Quinn's banana walnut pancakes in the morning and Santana showed her skills by impressively juicing oranges with her bare hands. A whole six dozen oranges met their match when Santana decided to pluck them from the trees in Florida. The whole process of flying there (running seemed to wear through too many shoes), flying back with armfuls of oranges, and juicing them took the same amount of time as Quinn's sixteen pancakes. Quinn scoffed jokingly, "Show-off." From that morning, they began to play the game of "what can you get from…" The whole purpose was to look up the most bizarre things in native lands far away. Like the star fruit from Guam. Or hunting down the nightblooming cereus, a flower that blooms only one night a year. Quinn and Brittany would shout the next treasure and before they knew it, Santana had an armful of whatever in front of them. It was silly and fun.

They spent one night making friendship bracelets from the sea glass Santana picked off the beaches of Scotland and glass beach in California. Brittany took the white glass stones and looped a cerulean thread through. Santana made hers with red sea glass, twined with an indigo-blue thread. Quinn liked the emerald green with a hazel-amber thread. When they caught the light, the glass shimmered against their skin.

The first two days of spring break was blissful but Brittany's family jetted off to their relatives in New Jersey.

And that morning, Quinn carefully, softly, gently reminded Santana about the letter, kissing her forehead as some sort of reassurance. She placed the letter in Santana's hands. Somehow, they ended up here the next day, holding hands in front of the home of a woman who had the potential to ruin their lives. She felt feverish, almost overheating; Quinn felt the heat emit to her hands.

The house looked ordinary. It was in an ordinary neighborhood. It had an ordinary lawn, ordinary windows and an ordinary door.

For some reason, Santana expected it to be…different. Maybe with a laboratory, machine guns around the gate. It was so ordinary that she almost missed it. Quinn pointed out that she run too far.

Quinn looked at the house and then at Santana. She seemed to be in a trance by the…. _What is so fascinating about this house?_ Santana's lips opened slightly, giving the soft expression of bewilderment. Her skin glowed in the sunlight. Quinn gazed at her, waiting for some indication that she was ready to go and knock down the door, demand some answers.

Santana stepped forward, Quinn following just behind her. She inhaled as she reached the front steps; the wooden porch smelled damp, a slight scent of lemon reaching her from the trees on the lawn. She held a hand in front of the door, ready to rap her knuckles and hesitating to do so. Santana glanced back at Quinn, feeling helpless. Quinn nodded.

_Knock knock. _The knuckles made quiet noises against the door.

A moment passed. A few seconds that felt like hours.

The door swooped open to reveal a woman.

She was small and her skin was a bronze tan, almost copper. Her hair was deep and dark, rich as chocolate. Some streaks of blonde from the sun.

Santana felt herself steel. Her glare was intense, glowering at the small woman in front of her. Suddenly, she felt angry. She was angry she was here. She was angry the woman didn't come for her earlier. She was angry that her body was morphing. She was angry that her life was not her own. She was angry–

–until Quinn's hand gave a gentle squeeze.

Santana's chin tilted, almost defiant. Her voice came out hard, with a cool edge, mature beyond her age. Quinn could see a district attorney of a mother in the young brunette somewhere. "Lara Amaral? Are you Lara?"

The stranger's dark eyebrows were raised at the sight of the girl in front of her. A moment passed when she suddenly recognized the angry teenager in front of her transform into the sweet child she once knew. Her face changed from confusion to recognition to…. fear? Her jaw dropped the slightest as she breathed out her question.

"Echo?"

* * *

Hey, all!

Sorry for the wait. Ended up writing much later parts of this story when I should have focused on the chapter at hand. Got too ahead of myself (:

Anyway, one of my favorite part is the Unholy Trinity so I thought I'd revive that a little. Plus, it becomes pretty critical later on.

Hope you all had a lovely week! Please leave a review and let me know what you think (:

Happy reading!


	15. I: The One I Can't Wake Up From

Chapter 15: The One I Can't Wake Up From

_The stranger's dark eyebrows were raised at the sight of the girl in front of her. A moment passed when she suddenly recognized the angry teenager in front of her transform into the sweet child she once knew. Her face changed from confusion to recognition to…. fear? Her jaw dropped the slightest as she breathed out her question. _

"_Echo?"_

* * *

When Santana was little, her parents told her they were taking to Disneyland in Florida for her birthday and it was the most exciting piece of news for anyone younger than ten. Hell, it's still probably the best news she'd get at any age. She impatiently counted the days till the trip every day, multiple times a day. The weeks of waiting stretched into what felt like eternity to any child. Finally, when the eve of the trip arrived, as she lay in bed, Santana was suddenly overcome with the fear that she dreamed this all up: they weren't really going on a trip to Disneyland. Instead, she would wake up and find that the good news and waiting was all just a dream. She convinced herself that nothing was happening and tossed and turned all night in disbelief and utter disappointment. Every moment was plagued by the thought: _This is it, this is when my dream ends_. It's what she thought as they packed the car. It's what she thought as they boarded the plane. It was on her mind when she sat in the hotel room. Even as her mom applied sunscreen to her to skin, she wallowed in her disbelief. It finally dawned on her when she saw the sign for Disneyland, the huge Mickey Mouse dancing in front of her, that what they said was true. They really were going to Disneyland!

Santana sat stiffly on Lara's couch, shifting around in discomfort, convinced that any moment, she would wake up from this nightmare. Her parents will have never told her she was genetically engineered; even Rachel Berry would be normal to her and Santana would be grateful. The only pain she would encounter would be to discover Quinn caressing Finnocence's hand instead of her hand; okay, maybe this wasn't the worst dream. Santana bit her tongue at the thought of Quinn with the giant. But still, it would be any moment, any moment now. Any moment and she will wake up from this.

But it seemed that this nightmare would go on. The only part of Santana that wasn't knotted with tension was the hand being gently massaged by Quinn's two hands. Quinn was kneading the tanned hand absentmindedly, looking around in their surroundings. Santana looked at their linked hands. One of the milky hands toyed with Santana's bracelet, the red sea glass of Santana's bracelet casting a rosy tint on her creamy skin. Their hands, fitting perfectly into each other's empty spaces, were the only things that made sense right now. When Santana looked up, there were no petri dishes, no blood samples. There were a few framed pictures along the hallway. Keys hung neatly right by the door knob. Mail sat on the coffee table in front of them, fanned out and opened. This was an ordinary place, not the freakshow lab Santana had expected. It didn't make sense so she kept her eyes trained on the only thing that did: Quinn's hands interlocked with hers.

Quinn peered curiously. There were some family and friend photos. A young girl with her parents, clearly. There were some photos of a younger, happier Lara with drinks in her hand. One framed photo of her graduation from her med school, by the look of the white-coat ceremony shot. But the most common subjects in the framed pictures were of the same two girls. Two girls wrapped in brilliant scarves. Two girls jumping into a pool. Two girls holding hands. One was definitely Lara. The other girl looked like Lara but a few years younger; she appeared like a mini Lara but she had a piercing set of dark eyes, much like Santana's. Lara's eyes were too soft and meek to handle that much dark.

The inside of the house was neat and actually quite lovely. White walls with bamboo furniture. The light wood contrasted nicely against the white. The curtains were lacey cream-white. The beige couch they were sitting on was a little stiff, like no one sat on it often to have worn it in. Quinn decided the house was put together with subtle, like someone embedded the beauty of it in the finer details: the specific color range, the texture of the wood, the material and tone of the furniture.

Quinn looked over and smiled. Santana made a stark but strangely beautiful contrast against the light of the house; her bronze skin glowed under the cream v-neck she wore, fitting snugly against the curves of her body. Her legs were covered by her light grey jeans but Quinn can still appreciate the shapely toned legs she could see under the material.

A crimson blush crept up on that smooth caramel skin under Quinn's careful gaze. It took every ounce of her will not to lean over and place her lips on Santana's. Her stomach clenched as inappropriate images flashed through her mind of what she'd like to do to Santana on this couch. The two of them reveled in this private moment as they wait for Lara.

They had been sitting for a while, one girl a bundle of nerves, one girl calmly curious and partially turned on, since Lara had invited them in for a talk. Even now, Santana could hear tinkering in the kitchen, spoons clanking against the teacups, water boiling.

Soft footsteps padded down the hall, coming to a stop in front of Santana.

She looked up, her eyes meeting a plate about a foot from her face.

Lara held out a plate of cookies to her. "Oatmeal raisin?"

Santana looked back at her with disbelief. _Really, oatmeal raisin cookies? Right now? _Who was this woman, Paula freakin' Deen? Santana was torn between her disbelief and her strong desire to slap some sense into the woman.

Lara coiled under Santana's glare but Quinn reached out and took a cookie, smiling at the woman to ease the uncomfortable tension in the room. The small woman sat back in her seat facing Quinn and Santana. She cleared her throat nervously.

The tension sat still in the air, neither party willing to be the first to speak. Santana held back out of anger and something that felt like betrayal; Lara held back out of nerves. Only Quinn appeared at ease in the situation; Santana felt an overwhelming gratitude for the blonde who was willing to accompany her in what is turning out to be the worst adventure. The whole situation was unexpected, for both of them. For all three of them.

Santana felt her disbelief slowly being washed away. Lara's very tangible presence in front of Santana lifted the haze of disbelief. She wasn't going to wake up from this nightmare. Instead, she felt her life being split into two significant segments in the hesitation hovering in the moment: the life she had before this conversation, full of innocence and blissful ignorance, and the life she will have after this conversation. This conversation would taint everything she had known, casting a dark stain across every moment she experienced before this. There was only one crack of light in this darkness and it was caressing her hand, soothing her with sympathetic humming.

Finally, Quinn started, "Why Echo?" The question had itched the back of her throat ever since she read it on the blue folder label, written neatly above Santana's name. And now that the woman called Santana by "Echo", she needed to ask. It didn't seem like Santana was quite in the state to be asking questions, anyway.

A small smile reached Lara's face. "The researchers and nurses all had favorites and sometimes, we gave them nicknames. We interacted with you the most so we needed a way to short your name. You were ECC-O42. Your name went from ECCO42 to Echo-42 to eventually, just Echo." She squirmed, trying to make herself a little more at ease.

"What the _hell_ is ECC-O42?" Santana spat out, unable to swallow her angry words any longer. She hated it, whatever it was. ECCO-42 wasn't even a name. It was a label and God knows Santana hated labels. People didn't fit into perfect slots – they were too fluid with their fears, desires, ideas, edges and angles, too vulnerable to change, too sensitive to the outside. Their minds changed as new ideas and information, people and thoughts flooded in, the way water changes forms when put in new containers.

The small smile dropped from Lara's face and Santana's anger filled the room, palpable as the walls.

"ECC-O42 is…" Lara's voice faltered. "…_was_ enhanced capability conjecture, omicron generation, subject 42." Her voice came out robotic, like she was reading this off of script.

"When I was starting medical school, I was scouted by a renowned laboratory. As much as I love medicine, my passion was with chemistry and genetics, with _curing_ people," the small woman began to explain, her hands gesturing in front of her. "And Allele Inc. was making advances centuries ahead of our time. They were developing cures for Alzeheimers by reevaluating the fibrillar amyloid proteins deposited inside neurons, examining neurofibrillary tangles and amyloid plaque cores. Researchers were finding links between mutations in lymphocytes that resembled the gene duplication in cancer cells. They…"

Quinn tried to listen but wandered in and out of the conversation, unable to understand the words between the "tissue-specific gene expression" and "tumorigenic cells". The only thing she did understand was the reverence and awe in Lara's voice; she clearly had loved what she did at the lab; Lara _respected_ their work. She glanced at Santana, her beautiful face marred by her clenched jaw, the thinly-veiled resentment setting a harsh attitude in her eyes.

"Then the Enhanced Capability Conjecture project, or ECC, was developed," Quinn's attention snapped back when she finally heard Santana-relevant words. "It was meant as a peace project of sorts. Imagine instead of going to war and losing thousands, you sent in ten perfect soldiers and lost none. Allele wanted to make this possible, creating beings that were built by the best that humanity and animal-kind could offer. We wanted to make cross new boundaries, save humanity, with you. It would be a new era of peacekeeping." A tone of desperate pleading entered her voice; Lara wanted Santana to understand, and maybe, _maybe_ she would forgive her. "It spun a little out of control."

The disbelief was overwhelming. Santana wanted to scream at her, "A little out of control?!" Lara continued before Santana could summon all her anger to yell.

"Subjects were created in our form, babies really. We created hundreds, named in accordance to their specific genetic code. ECC-O42, for example, came from the project name, Enhanced Capability Conjecture. You were of the omicron generation, subject 42. Each subject was unique, their genetic code displaying a unique algorithm. Our mistakes varied wildly with each subject as result. Sometimes, subjects didn't survive testing. Sometimes, subjects like you thrived.

"We spent our time nurturing each subject from conception. We spliced, inserted, ruptured, tore their genes into different combinations, different algorithms. In doing so, we manipulated and enhanced the different abilities of animals and humans." Quinn felt broken just hearing what Santana's infancy must have been like.

Santana quirked an eyebrow at Lara's words, understanding a little bit more about her unusual abilities. Her anger was overcome by her curiosity. Santana's raspy voice asked, "Like regeneration?"

Lara nodded. "There were definitely some regenerative qualities from reptiles we wanted to recreate. We increased the number of myogenic precursors to regenerate damaged muscle fibers. Perfect soldiers wouldn't die. In fact, we could extend this to cure thousands of illnesses."

Quinn resented the edge of reverence re-emerging in Lara's voice. _Doctors and their damn God-complex_, Quinn scoffed and shook her head. If Santana wasn't going to explicitly show her disapproval, then Quinn would.

"There were other qualities we didn't expect. Like how some babies couldn't sleep long hours because tigers are naturally night hunters. It created some insomniacs among the subjects." Quinn remembered Santana's few and fretful hours of sleep. In retrospect, it made sense: her body wasn't letting her sleep; it just wasn't in her nature.

"What about flying?" Santana's question surprised Lara.

"You can fly?" Lara paused, mulling over this new fact, only half-surprised. "We never understood how human puberty would transform these abilities." She shrugged. "Aerodynamically speaking, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly. It doesn't have the capacity in terms of wing size or beats per second for its body to fly. Still, it flies, doesn't it?"

The two girls looked back at her blankly. Lara tried to approach this differently.

"We always suspected that there would be unaccounted variables. Subjects were put into temporary development capacitance. Basically, they were machines that could accelerate your abilities temporarily for observations, abilities which would normally not develop until puberty."

"I hit puberty at 12. These things didn't happen until recently." Santana's statement came out more like a question, like she was unsure.

Lara nodded. "For you, it would make sense that your abilities would emerge later. In humans, thirteen is around the average age but in animals, puberty or sexual maturation develops later than most humans, especially when raised in captivity than in the wild." Lara bit back her next sentence but the thought crossed Santana and Quinn's mind anyway: _Santana was more animal than human_.

"Not all of our subjects survived till maturation. In the omicron generation, subjects 1 through 34 failed to survive experimentation. Some of our subjects, generations ahead of you, actually lived to reach puberty. ECC-L8, for example," Santana shook her head at the label. Lara noticed and quickly corrected herself. "We called him Jason. He was Lambda generation and created two years before you were."

Lara stood up and began to pace, eyes fixed at her shuffling feet as she tried to explain.

"But human hormones create unpredictable results. Tiny variations in the human genetic sequences completely disrupt the linear development. It became clear that we could no longer predict what would happen. It would explain why you may be able to fly. I know your particular code included some lightweight bones borrowed from falcons."

Her voice softened, a little sad, a little remorseful. "The unpredictability was wonderful and dangerous. In you, it brought amazing abilities, like flying. Some subjects grew gills, small slits along their throats that allowed them to extract oxygen from water molecules. Others like Sarah, S15, blend into her backgrounds, the melatonin in her skin shifting to camouflage."

"But one day, we put Jason, L8, in the temporary development capacitance machine. In less than thirty minutes, he grew fangs and small nails, like claws. What we didn't account for was his sudden strength that overwhelmed the observers. His handler lost control of him and Jason leapt out of the machine, breaking through the small door. We shot him down with machine guns loaded with heavy doses of morphine but not before he ripped out his handler's throat and injured six other people. He had his long nails dug between the fourth and fifth rib bone of his handler when we finally had him down." She paused.

Quinn sensed Lara's hesitation.

An eerie sensation settled on Santana's shoulders. Whatever was coming next, Santana knew she wasn't going to like it. Santana felt the fine hairs on her neck stand, goosebumps spreading across her arms but she didn't let her fear show on her face.

"Senior management decided that ECC was a dangerous project to move forward with and could wait for the time being. So they began the termination process."

Quinn felt a chill cross her body. Santana's hand gripped Quinn's.

"What…" Quinn hesitated but forced herself to ask. "What do you mean termination?"

Lara sat down again. She shifted uncomfortably, casting her eyes at the plate of cookies in front of her. The words coming out of her mouth sounded far away, like Lara was miles away from them.

"Entire generations, hundreds of subjects." Lara shook her head. "Hundreds of _children_, we had to put them down."

She looked up at Santana, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. "We didn't want to but it had to be done, to maintain what we created. So many children were killed in the process. So much potential. And I just needed to save one." Her words spilled out, frantic and upset.

Santana's eyes darkened, the woman slowly breaking down in front of her.

"Why me?" The question came out more like an accusation. Quinn watched the woman cringe under Santana's cold stare. This was a Santana that Quinn knew from school, one that could separate emotions from her goals. This Santana was ruthless and headstrong. Each harsh glance she casted created fractures in the woman's composure until it would only take a few questions to shatter her.

Lara spoke through a shaky breath. "You were…" She faltered, unsure of how it would come across. "Of all the ECC generations, across all the developed subjects, you showed the most promise. Even though we were unsure of how you would turn out after puberty, you were unique. As far as we know, the perfect algorithm. Even from the beginning, we knew that."

A soft affection entered her tone.

"And you were my special assignment. From beginning to end, I watched you grow. I watched over you at night. When you cried, I was the one who soothed you back to sleep. When you were under testing, your genes being broken down and built back up, I made sure that they didn't hurt you."

Santana's next question came out quieter. "Why Santana?" Santana felt comfortable in her name but she needed to know why Lara had insisted on it.

Lara smiled at the question. "You reminded me of my hometown, Feira de Santana, Brazil. You reminded me of the best person I knew when I was growing up, my younger sister at home: fiery, demanding, and headstrong, even as an infant. You are perfect. She was brilliant. " Quinn unconsciously nodded. There was no denying this. Santana was the person who went for things regardless of how reckless it seemed. Quinn looked at the forest fire sitting next to her. She replayed the words in her head, recognizing the past tense of Lara's words: her younger sister _was_ brilliant. Quinn bowed her head, a quick moment of silence for her loss.

"We were allowed to sculpt our project." Santana glowered at the words. _Sculpt. Project. _Each word made her feel used, like a piece of fabric, all cut up. Lara shuffled, trying to continue under the intense glare. "I mean, it's difficult to know exactly what each subject would grow up to look like but we had a pretty good idea, like the way an architect plans for a building and it turns out to be pretty similar to the original blueprints. We knew the general angles and curves being placed, the genetic code that would produce a specific set of colors," Lara lifted an arm to gesture at each body part on Santana. "The color of your eyes, the shades in your hair, the tone of your skin." Her arm made a sweeping gesture down Santana's front side. "I tried to revive a little bit of her in you and you did but you also turned out to be your own kind of beautiful."

It made sense to Quinn; Lara must have decorated this house because Santana, like this house, was beautiful but held most of it in the fine details. There's no doubt that the girl was striking at first glance but under scrutiny, if one was special enough to share personal space with her, Santana's true beauty emerged in the subtle details. She was _sculpted_, someone had paid attention to every detail.

Quinn scanned the dark beauty appreciatively from her angled face to the gentle curves of her calves. Santana's eyes shared the dark beauty of the young girl holding hands with a young Lara in the pictures. They were piercing, intense, and full of spirit. But Santana's eyes held more quality; each shard of hazel and amber amongst the dark swirls of her eyes captivated Quinn when Quinn had the brief chances to gaze deeply into her eyes without reservation in their most intimate moments. If she gazed long enough, there was one strand of amethyst, a dark purple, hidden amongst all those colors; of course, no one dared to stare that long at Santana. Her eyes were striking but too intense for most; Quinn just threw herself headfirst in that gaze, willing to get lost. Dark lashes framed those eyes, doing nothing to temper the force of her gaze. Rounded cheekbones protruded, giving her face character and shape. Her lips were a perfect shade of rose, a noticeable red in a pout. Quinn unconsciously ran her tongue across her lips as she scanned down Santana's face to her body.

Santana's curves produced a beautiful figure, slim but strong. Her jaws were angled in the slightest defiance. Her long hair grabbed the attention of a room, the dark shades of black and brown captivating any audience as it waved against her body. Quinn wanted to reach out and run her fingers lightly across the sliver of skin on the back of her neck, exposed when her hair was brushed to come over one shoulder, like it was now; she wanted to feel that Santana-specific softness of skin, a touch so unique to Santana that it would make sense that it couldn't be human. Green lines barely showed under the sheen of her skin, a web of veins making a map on only in the most delicate of places, like just above her hipbone or the backs of her hand.

It was like someone took the time to put together all these little details to produce one stunning being. Santana even made confusion and wonderment look lovely right now, her mouth agape, her perfectly shaped brows raised just the slightest; she was too distracted to be flustered by Quinn's appreciate scrutiny.

From the kitchen, a piercing whistle came. The water was boiling, whistling from the tea kettle. Lara looked back at the hallway door towards the kitchen, grateful for a break from this conversation. As she stood up, she quietly said, "I'm sorry" before going back to get the tea.

Santana shook her head, a dull ache forming in the back of her eyes. _I will not cry, I will not cry_, she willed herself. A warm hand rubbed her back up and down, softly soothing her. Quinn felt something crack inside as she watched Santana try to compose herself. It was a testament to how much she endured that Santana wouldn't even let herself be upset. Not now, at least.

Quinn connected her forehead to Santana's temple, immersing the girl in an ever-comforting closeness and bringing her words close to Santana's ears as she murmured "You wanna go?"

Dark locks of her hair bobbed as Santana shook her head no, eyes fixed on the mail on the coffee table in front of her. Of course she wanted to go. She wanted to get up, leave, go home with Quinn and lie in bed, wrapped in Quinn's arms. Cool sheets would wrap their bodies as Quinn would make her laugh. Quinn would make her feel loved. Santana would take whatever love Quinn would be willing to give. But no, she needed to stay and hear this. There was no escaping who she was. _What_ she was.

Santana stared the mail, trying to drink back the tears. She tried to focus her eyes, willing the tears to disappear by reading the upside down clutter of words among the letters.

_Allele, Inc. _

The two words caught her eyes from the letter half-buried under other mail. Quinn watched the girl as she reached out an arm to a letter on the table. "Hey," Quinn whispered at Santana's actions. As much as Lara deserved to be slapped across the face, Quinn didn't want to invade the woman's privacy. But Santana had already brought the letter in front of her face.

Santana's eyes scanned the letter, her eyes opening wide. _Dear Ms. Lara Amaral… _Why was Allele Inc. writing to her? The letter was dated only a few weeks ago. _We invite you back to revive a former project, previously directed under…_the letter listed a bunch of names right before bullet points. _If you do decide to return, the conditions include…_

_I can't believe…_ Santana's thoughts stopped, her heart pumped.

The words flashed in her mind: _You must contact Allele Inc. upon any communication with previous subjects for proper processing and termination. _Santana felt adrenaline flood into her veins, fear petrifying her; there was no more noise comi ng from the kitchen.

The water had stopped, no sound of cups and spoons. The house was eerily quiet. Her hand nearly crushed Quinn's delicate hands, gripping tightly in her sudden caution. Quinn winced, squirming under the grip.

The brunette stood up abruptly, yanking Quinn up by her hand.

"We need to go," Santana whispered urgently, a panicked edge on her voice. "_Now_."

In a testimony of how much she trusted Santana, Quinn didn't even question her but turned towards the door. Santana shoved the letter in her packet, crumpling it in the process. She pulled Quinn to the front door, pressing herself against it as she checked the peephole. _No one yet_. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Lara may not even be calling anyone.

With one swift silent movement, she swung the door open and dragged the blonde out from the house. As they reached the bottom step, a black Escalade turned at the street corner, license plate blacked out. Santana froze just as she reached the front gate of the house, Quinn colliding into her back. The car came to a stop, facing the two girls. Two men stepped out of the Escalade, now parked.

Santana spun around to find Lara standing by the front door. Her eyes spoke an apology but Santana didn't care. She placed her arms on Quinn's shoulders and looked at the blonde dead-on, frantic panic flooding those hazel and green eyes.

"Trust me." The command came out as a whisper, husky in Santana's voice. "Close your eyes."

Quinn closed her eyes. The space between her body and Santana's body closed, warmth radiating up and down their pressing bodies. Arms looped around Quinn's waist and held their bodies close, her heart racing from the terror and contact of Santana's firm body…

…just as she felt wind rushing down her body, her stomach plummeting as though she was falling upwards. For a moment, one glorious moment, Quinn felt weightless, the ground tore away from below her. She unconsciously brought her arms to Santana's shoulders, wrapping her upper body, the smaller girl's shoulder blades shift under her arms. Loud cracks hit the air in the fleeting moment of weightlessness. She didn't open her eyes but pulled Santana closer as she felt the world move away from her.

Cracks continued to whip the air but became distant with each millisecond.

Something warm trickled from Santana's back onto Quinn's hands. Some warm liquid covered Quinn's hands, she felt it as she rubbed her fingers against each other. _Where is this coming from_? Unwilling to break Santana's trust, she kept her eyes shut as she felt a brief jolt as though someone had dropped her for a moment. The curious experience steadied, a continuous movement of the world speeding away from her. The wind rushed through their bodies, not able to reach between their pressed fronts.

Suddenly, the speed slowed, the wind no longer blasting. Quinn felt the ground reaching up for her feet. She waved a moment, trying to find some stability in the unmoving ground.

"It's okay," Santana coughed out.

Quinn felt the girl lean forward heavily into her body, her weight pressing Quinn backwards. Her arms still looped around Quinn's waist but much more loosely now.

Quinn opened her eyes.

Her arms were still wrapped around Santana's upper body. Santana pressed forward, her eyes fluttering. Quinn willed herself to look down, her chin on the backside of Santana's shoulders. She had a perfect view of Santana's backside and her forearms binding around Santana's shoulder blades. Dread overwhelmed Quinn as she slowly lifted her arms away, holding Santana up only by their pressed fronts.

Blood poured from six gunshots to Santana's back. A deep red flooded the cream of the shirt, soaking through the light grey jeans to make pools of dark grey. Quinn lifted her fingertips to the sunlight, ruby stains rubbed onto her finger tips.

Santana slowly crumpled onto her knees, trying to cough out the bullets from her body. Quinn slid to the ground silently in front of her, her arms covered in Santana's blood, still outstretched in front of her. Santana caught a glimpse of Quinn's face, scared as a deer caught in headlights. Shock and fear made Santana ache somewhere deep inside, a pang that surprising hurt more than the punctures in her body.

"Stupid bitch tried to kill us," Santana choked out, half-laughing to make Quinn feel better. A ghost of a smile lingered in her grimace. Quinn watched silently, petrified, as Santana winced, her body repairing itself, closing the bullet wounds and spitting out the bullets. The blood still stained her clothes but the injuries were rapidly disappearing in front of her.

Santana had been convinced this was a dream, a horrible nightmare that she would wake up from any moment. But the disbelief was very much gone, leaving gunshots echoing in her ears. Unlike a dream or a nightmare, these wounds actually hurt.

Something buzzed against her body. Quinn glanced up and down, perplexed and half-expecting some robotic memory chip emerge from Santana's body. From the back pocket of her bloodied jeans, Santana produced her phone.

Brittany's face popped up on the screen on caller ID. Santana dusted off her knees as she stood up.

"_Tana!"_ A bubbly voice squealed as she answered the call. Santana turned to face the driveway, away from Quinn. The sun made her eyes squint.

"Hey, you!" The edge of relief in Santana's voice sounded genuine under the layers of fake cheeriness. "How is it over there?"

Something moved behind her.

When Santana turned, she saw the blonde walking into the house, up the stairs. Her brow furrowed just the slightest as she remembered the terrified look on Quinn's face. She scuffed her shoe into the ground, trying to figure out what to do in the moment.

"_And then the water splashed all over us! It was so much fun, Tana!" _Brittany's voice brought her back to the conversation, a welcome distraction.

* * *

Quinn let the water cascade down her back, the steam from the warm water fogging up the glass walls of the shower stall. She pressed her palm against the wall in front of her, watching the water stream into the drain embedded in the white stone tile of the shower stall floor. She had been here sometime because the water rolling off her legs, dripping from her shoulders was clear now but some time ago, it had the pink hue of a watered-down blood. _Santana's_ blood, coming off of her body. In these quiet waters, she felt her heart finally slowing down only to start racing again as she remembered the blood pouring from Santana's body, the grimace on her face.

Even in the warm water, she shivered at the thought of Santana, dead. Her silent tears mixed with the shower stream as she ached for the torment that baby Santana must have endured in that lab. Powerful forces of protectiveness washed over her; all she wanted to do was run (or drive) to wherever Allele Inc. was and rip the place down brick by brick. Her hands formed fists, anger coursing through her thoughts.

But she ached more because she craved Santana. There was nothing more she wanted than to wrap her arms around that small figure, never let go and fall completely headfirst into Santana's hypnotizing presence. If she held her long enough, she would will some sort of emotional osmosis; somehow, maybe, Quinn would be able to absorb all the pain and heartache she knew Santana was grappling with just outside the bathroom door. The fresh aroma of cinnamon would intoxicate her, Santana's warmth would radiate from their pressed bodies. Quinn's breath hitched at the thought, causing a brief break in the steady stream of water rolling off of her body.

"I love you," the blonde whispered softly at the water. Her eyes widened just the slightest, surprised by what she just admitted without knowing it. Her body seemed to know more than she did about how she felt but she knew with every fiber in her body that she did. She loved Santana.

She loves Santana.

She loves Santana.

The words tasted familiar in her mouth even though she had never said it.

And Quinn felt a small smile on her lips as she _finally_ pinned down what she felt. It was not a sudden decision but the words that finally sealed what she had known for a long time.


	16. I: A Light in This Darkness

Chapter 16: A Light in This Darkness

* * *

_She's been in there forever_, Santana worried. The blonde was definitely not dead, she decided. The shower was still running; Santana could hear Quinn moving around inside, constantly interrupting the stream of water which confirmed that she was in fact showering, not lying dead on the ground or something. Santana brought her knees up to her chest, curling into a fetal position on the bed, facing away from the bathroom door. Her nails raked up and down her own shin nervously, making long scratch marks along her leg. The sound was grating to her own ears.

_This is unfair for Quinn_. She shouldn't have to deal with this complicated crap, "complicated" being the understatement of the year. But Quinn was too good to her. She was so good to Santana that she didn't know when she was getting hurt along the way. But Santana knew it, squeezing her eyes shut and releasing tears quietly as the heavy guilt curled up in her stomach. She knew it was too dangerous for Quinn and dragging her to Lara's house almost got Quinn killed today. _If one of those bullets had strayed a little too far…_ Santana cut the thought before it bloomed into a full anxiety attack.

The bathroom door creaked behind her, releasing steam and light into the darkened room, onto the bed where Santana's body was curled away from Quinn. The steamy aroma of her shampoo and jasmine floated to drape a blanket of comfort and warmth on Santana's body. Soft footsteps echoed in Santana's ears.

The bed shifted as Quinn climbed into bed, facing Santana's body even though it was turned away from her. Quinn could make out the unevenness of the rise and fall of her shoulders, matching her uneven awake breath. She watched Santana sleeping often enough to tell when she was sleeping deeply, in a nightmare, or lying awake, fears and gears turning in her mind. Santana wasn't asleep but thinking deeply, Quinn gathered. Santana's arms were wrapped protectively around her middle, as if to protect herself from her thoughts. Quinn felt her insides twisting with ache for the broken girl and a incessant gnawing in her stomach to draw her closer, to press her lips into Santana's shoulder and place her arms on top of Santana's wrapped arms. Her damp hair soaked into the pillow; she lost track of how long she stared at the silhouette of the small figure.

"You can go."

Santana spoke into the darkness but said it to Quinn.

"I would understand, really. You don't have to be here, especially not after today." Getting her blood all over Quinn's body was not part of the deal. Having bullets flying at them in broad daylight was _not_ part of the deal. Lara, Allele Inc., the crazy people all trying look bad-ass with their black cars, they were _not_ part of the deal.

The pause lingered in the air, making the room feel large and empty.

Santana closed her eyes when she felt the bed shift as Quinn moved after her words. _She's going_, Santana cringed, trying to stop the dread and sadness from tearing her body apart. It would do them both good if Santana could navigate through this alone. She was a Lopez, for God's sake. She didn't need anyone or have anyone get hurt over her, she didn't–

Soft lips pressed against the middle of her back, just below her neck, a hand placed on the corner of shoulder before it slid down to slip under her own tight arms to loosely drape her waist. Santana turned in surprise, finding the stunning pair of green and hazel eyes close to her own.

"Don't be a martyr," Quinn murmured, fresh spearmint breath washing over Santana. "I'm not going anywhere, I told you." _I couldn't even if I tried,_ Quinn silently confessed as she stared deeply into Santana's chocolate eyes. _Even if I were screaming and kicking, I wouldn't be able to resist your gravity._ Quinn knew that Santana wouldn't understand her words, not yet at least, so she held them in but still, had to confess it to her face silently. She had just found out her own feelings, hadn't she?

Santana lay stunned, letting the implication of Quinn's presence wash over her.

Santana had given her an out and Quinn wasn't taking it.

Even though Santana understood herself as a freak, as inhuman bits and pieces strung together like scrap metal, even though Quinn almost _died_ today, and she knew as much as she did about her history, the blonde still brought her face closer to Santana, tempting her to close the distance. Santana searched in Quinn's eyes for something that would explain why anyone would willingly stay with her; no one ever had before. Those eyes looked back, open to love and be loved.

Surprise and gratitude compelled Santana to reach behind Quinn's neck, drawing pink lips towards her own. Quinn's hands pull her waist close, needing to reestablish a connection. They needed to know nothing changed; their kisses, their feelings, their thoughts weren't changed by the facts. The rules of their friendship were transforming to encompass new boundaries of love, new understandings of their chemistry.

Quinn's heart pounded as she rolled over on top of Santana, settling comfortably between her legs. Their lips melted into each other, Quinn's tongue ran teasingly across Santana's bottom lip, asking for her permission. Her mouth opened, letting Quinn in and a husky moan escape from her body. Fingers played at the hem of Santana's shirt, slowly rubbing the warm, sensitive skin on her hipbone just underneath the shirt. Quinn's hands inched upward, slowly bunching up Santana's shirt until her fingers were toying with the lace of Santana's bra.

Santana felt Quinn draw back suddenly. She almost whimpered in protest. Way to leave a girl hanging.

Quinn burst with laughter as she looked at the pout on Santana's face.

Santana whined childishly, "What?"

Quinn placed her fingers lightly on one spot just off of her ribs on Santana's toned stomach, tense under her touch. Santana looked to where she was pointing: it was bleeding just a bit, a leftover present from the afternoon. When she flexed her stomach to bring herself up onto her elbows, she understood why: there was still a bullet in there, a stowaway lodged diagonally to complicate her healing process. Santana could feel the foreign intrusion in her body.

Santana looked up to find Quinn watching her.

"Don't look," Santana muttered as she casted her eyes back down, her fingers digging into her stomach to pull out the bullet. Crimson drops crashed onto the sheets, loud to Santana's ears but completely silent to Quinn.

The bullet came out, a little silver showing through the red blood. Santana sighed, feeling whole again as her body stitched itself together. Despite the gory scene in front of her, Quinn felt her own body transparently lusting at the sound of that sigh. Small veins reached for each other, the tissue growing back to fill the empty space. New skin stretched to cover the marring. Quinn bent down and kissed the new skin that erased any indication that there was ever an open wound; Santana bit the inside of her cheek to keep from whimpering at the contact. Soft pink lips lingered on the bronze stomach just a moment longer before Quinn drew back and flopped onto the bed, taking Santana's hand in her own, their intertwined fingers between them. Her champagne skin glowed in the dark room, lit only by the moonlight.

"S," Santana's heart pounded in anticipation of her next words. She waited but Quinn just looked over, tracing Santana's perfect profile with her eyes.

Quinn let her stare linger, following up and down Santana's body, until the brunette couldn't handle the scrutiny anymore.

"Stop it."

Quinn's smile grew wide. She nudged Santana's shoulder with her nose playfully and teased, "Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that. You're making me nervous." True to her words, Santana tucked a dark lock behind her ear nervously with her free hand. She cleared her throat.

"I like looking at you."

Santana's cheeks flushed crimson, the red creeping up to the tips of her ears. She tried to keep her face expressionless when Quinn brushed a chaste kiss onto her lips before lying back, causing a slight complication in that plan. Even though there was nothing more that she wanted to do than to reach over and bring their bodies too close to tell their tangled limbs apart, Quinn saw more questions in Santana's eyes and hesitated. She admitted to the shower stall walls but was Santana even prepared to hear her say it? Still, it was all she could think: _I love you._

"I love you, too," Santana mumbled, her face still turned towards the ceiling, almost as though she was saying it to the ceiling the way Quinn had admitted it to the shower stall walls. Quinn's eyes widened; did she say it out loud? _No, I didn't even say it_, the blonde froze. Quinn sucked in her breath, feeling her heart race.

Santana slowly turned her head to look at her. She didn't know what she would find on Quinn's face but the dumbfounded expression on her face was adorable and made Santana laugh. "You forget these," she tapped her ears while still laughing. "I kind of have awesome hearing, in case you haven't noticed." She paused, not wanting to seem like how she heard what she heard wasn't a big deal to her. "Sorry, I heard you in the shower."

"You listened to me shower?!" Quinn exclaimed, torn between being violated by Santana's abilities and ecstatic at Santana's response. A smile made it halfway onto her face before she bit the inside of her cheek to look at least a little violated as she punched Santana in the arm.

"Sorry, it's not like I meant to. I can't help that you whisper as loud as Berry sings," Santana rolled close to Quinn in one swift movement and winked, her body and expression making heat explode in Quinn's body. She brought her face teasingly close and pecked her lips once. "I do, though." As if to sign and seal the statement, she pressed her lips firmly onto Quinn's lips in declaration.

Quinn felt her lips smile into the kiss, slender fingers lightly brushing strands of her damp blonde hair back before the sensation pulled away. As Santana laid her head on Quinn's chest with one arm around Quinn's waist, she listened Quinn's heart beat under her delicate rib bones and let the blonde's words flood into the voids in her heart. Quinn combed Santana's raven-black hair with light fingers, a calming and soothing movement. When Santana closed her eyes, everything disappeared except the unwavering beat of Quinn's heart, steady and reliable as the waves of an ocean that refused to stop kissing the shore no matter how many times it was sent away.

* * *

"I can't wait to get out of here," Rachel muttered bitterly to herself as she wiped the slushy from her eyes. If she were president, she would ban all slushies in all fifty states, especially the freakishly blue one that seemed to stain her skin. Everyone can stick to vegan dairy-free ice cream in the summer and the world would never have to see that hideous artificial blue stain on anyone's skin. She unsuccessfully tried to wipe with the back of her hand but her hands, too, were covered in the abominable blue ice. In a few hours, her shirt would feel unpleasantly sticky and wet.

"Here." A hand poked her arm with something soft.

She opened her eyes to find Santana leaning against the sink and Brittany two feet from her. The blonde beamed brightly at her, her arm outstretched with a shirt at the end of her arm. It was a soft shirt, well-worn with an image of the Beatles walking across Abbey Road on it.

Rachel looked at the shirt and back at the girls quizzically. They had been nicer than before, though that wasn't much of a standard, since they've joined the Glee Club. But they haven't gone out of their way to help. Not like this anyway. Santana felt her bewildered look on her and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Don't look so surprised, Berry," Santana nonchalantly said, examining her nails. "It's not like we haven't all been slushied once or twice before." She looked up to meet Rachel's gaze. "Besides, this shirt looks better than that sweater vest."

Rachel took it from Brittany's hands, bringing it close to her chest. "Thanks…" she let out softly.

Brittany nodded, her eyes still bright with an innocent shine. "Besides, your skin will turn green if you leave the blue slushy in your clothes," she frowned, remembering how her own porcelain skin stained green, almost blue, after a slushy-dump. Brittany brought her hand up to Rachel's face, trying to wipe away a trace of blue ice still on her cheeks. "You don't want to look like Oscar."

"Oscar?"

"The one in the trash can?" Brittany seemed surprised Rachel didn't know about Oscar in the trash can.

"She means Oscar from Sesame Street, the green thing that lives in a trash can," Santana shook her head as though everyone operated in Brittany-speak and Rachel was just wildly out of fashion. She pushed herself off the sink to head towards the door. "Anyway, hobbit, we'll see you later."

Rachel nodded, stunned and grateful for Santana's behavior. Brittany bounced out, her long blonde ponytail swaying behind her. Santana followed, returning the slightest of smiles back at Rachel, unsure of why she did that.

The hallway buzzed with students gathering things for afterschool activities or homework. Santana's brows stitched together to frown just a little at Quinn's absence; the blonde was tying up some last things before their fast-approaching graduation. Santana gnawed at the inside of her cheek, nervous about how to deal with separating from someone who made her feel at home, no matter where they were. Someone who waited patiently for her. Someone, who, according to last night's words, _loved_ her, in all the capacity of the word. Quinn would be leaving for Yale soon and Santana was all too familiar with the dismay pooling in her stomach at the thought of someone she loved leaving her. She used to have these small anxiety attacks each time her parents left her; she could almost literally feel her heart stop for a moment. And now, she felt her heart flutter, making her gasp quietly. Brittany looked over, a little concerned but willing to let it go just as easily.

Santana shook her head as Brittany hooked her pinky and dragged her down the hall, skipping. _It's not for weeks_, Santana scoffed at her own early onset anxiety and tried to calm her pounding heart. Still, she felt her heart flutter dangerously at the thought. As they walked, Santana spotted a burly jock with an empty slushy cup. In retrospect, many years later, she understood why she did it but at this moment, she didn't know why. She thought maybe it was because she was feeling particularly empathetic towards Berry and anxious about Quinn's departure but her eyes narrowed dangerously at the cup in the jock's hand. The jock noticed a sudden rise in the room temperature when he felt her gaze train in on him.

Brittany felt Santana let go of her pinky. She turned just in time to see the small brunette marching up to some huge guy in a letterman jacket, the little flaps of her Cheerio uniform waving in her haste.

_Slam_.

Santana pushed him against the wall, pinning him under her forearm. Brittany's eyes widened a little as his sneakers lifted just slightest off the ground, the toes of his sneakers grazing lightly on the ground below. He was easily 200 pounds but Santana pushed him up against the wall with only one arm like he was light as she was. The crowd of students that gathered around didn't seem to notice the inch of empty space between the jock's shoes and the ground. She was like a slim, gorgeous, non-green version of the Hulk; so basically she was just Santana with Hulk strength but still, it surprised Brittany. Tana didn't want to share her news with everyone so Brittany had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from squealing at the sight of her strength.

The cup dropped from his hand. Little bits of blueberry slushy splattered onto the floor.

Santana brought her face close to the boy's. Fear shined through his wide eyes. She growled under her breath, just quiet enough for only him to hear but aggressive enough to get her message across: "If I ever see you even holding a slushy again, if you even think about tormenting Rachel Berry or any of the Glee kids, I will let the entire school loose on you. They are _off-limits_. You hear me?"

The boy struggled to nod under her strong arms but managed to nod once. A strangled gargle came out of his mouth, his face turning red under the hold.

Santana dropped him, satisfied with his answer, and slammed his shoulders to the wall one more time to make her message clear. He stumbled down, falling before her. "Tell your jerk buddies," Santana directed, towering over the boy. She made the 200-pound, six-foot boy look like an eleven year old. "'Cause the same goes to every one of you."

She whipped around, taking Brittany by the hand. The crowd dispersed, carefully avoiding the bully-turned-prey.

From a corner, Rachel was watching the interaction between the jock who slushied her and Santana. Even though what Santana had growled to the jock wasn't audible, she could infer what had passed; it wasn't a coincidence that Santana attacked the same person who slushied her. Her flats made no sounds as she followed them down the hall; she watched as Santana hugged Brittany goodbye in front of the school. Brittany lightly tapped Santana's nose, making Santana scrunch her nose playfully in response. Rachel expected Santana to leave in the opposite direction; why else would they part?

But Santana watched Brittany skip down the front steps of the school before she turned around, heading towards the auditorium. _Where is she going?_ There was no real explanation for why Santana was nicer to her but Rachel figured she'd ask her anyway, following her to the auditorium.

"Hey!"

A voice echoed in the large, empty room. Santana turned around to face the unexpected presence.

"What, Berry?" Santana sounded genuinely curious, not aggressive, letting herself not be a bitch for once. There was no audience to judge her anyway.

"I… uh…." Rachel faltered now that she was actually facing her savior. She didn't know why exactly she followed her and the intense look that Santana was placing on her didn't help her remember. "I just wanted to say thanks for the shirt."

Santana, surprised at this humble display of gratitude from the diva of all people, gave a curt nod. "Yeah, well…" She racked her brains for a sarcastic comment but couldn't find one. _Damn, these changes…. Must be taking away my edge_. Sarcasm takes practice and lately, she's been too vulnerable between Lara, her parents, and Quinn to practice any sarcasm. She offered the next best thing she had. "It looks good on you anyway."

And it did. Santana's shirt fit well on the small girl. It was enough to make her completely overlook the skirt she was wearing.

Santana turned around, climbing the steps onto the stage.

Slowly.

Incredibly, achingly slowly.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow when she noticed how slowly Santana climbed. The girl was hunched over as she climbed, like it was really difficult. _It shouldn't be, though,_ Rachel thought, perplexed at the sudden feat that the stairs seemed to be for the Latina. _She's a Cheerio. She climbs thousands of stairs a day_… She knew how hard Sue Sylvester drove these girls.

She called out to Santana's back, "Are you all right?"

Santana turned, slowly as she reached the upper step. Her hand was clutched at her heart, her grip so tight that Rachel could see the scratch marks her nails left behind. Rachel's eyes widen as Santana straightened up for a moment, her chin high. It was one fleeting moment before—

_Thunk._

Santana's knees hit the stage floor. She drew in shallow breaths desperately. Her eyes moved in and out of focus as Rachel ran up the stairs, much more quickly that Santana had. She grabbed the crumpling girl before she fell forward off the stage almost entirely. As Santana fell into her arms, Rachel's eyes widened with shock. How do you approach this?

"Hey, hey!" Rachel gently shook Santana, trying to grab her attention but Santana could barely draw in air, let alone focus on what Berry was saying. The phone that slipped out of Santana's pocket lay on the floor beside them. Rachel reached for the phone and scrolled through her recent calls. Whoever she called most often would be the logical choice to call, since Rachel didn't quite know what her home situation was. _Does she even have a family?_ Rachel realized she never bothered to ask Santana… although it wasn't like she had many opportunities to talk to Santana, the normal human that existed beyond the bitch façade in a Cheerio uniform.

_Quinn. _

_Quinn._

_Quinn. _

_Quinn. _

_Brittany._

_Quinn._

_Quinn. _

Of all the recent calls, Quinn dominated the list except for the occasional Brittany.

"God, does she ever talk to anyone else?" Rachel muttered, somewhat scared to call Quinn. Rachel looked down at the girl half-passed out in her arms, trying to decide if Quinn would even come if she called. She dialed her from Santana's phone anyway.

"_Hey, S, where are you?"_ Quinn's irritated voice pounded through before Rachel even got her words out. "_I'm waiting for you, come on!"_

"Uh….Quinn?" Rachel's voice came out frantic. Santana groaned in pain, making Rachel spill the situation frantically in one breath. "I'mintheauditoriumandSantanaju stcollapsedIdon'tknowhathappenedtohercanyoup leasecome?"

"_I'll be right there._" The conversation clicked in her ear.

* * *

Santana was sitting up, leaning against Rachel, by the time Quinn got there. The blonde rushed up to where Rachel was holding her, just above the steps. Her arms snaked around Santana's upper body, replacing Rachel and almost pushing her aside in her haste.

"Are you okay?" Quinn breathed into Santana's space. "What happened?"

Santana shook her head, not wanting to get into the situation with Berry so close. Rachel asked hesitantly, backing away a little to give Quinn room to cradle Santana in her lap, "Santana, do you need anything? A beverage, perhaps?"

"Thanks, Berry, but I think I'm good," Santana smiled weakly but with a smile so genuine that Rachel was taken aback. What a complete 180 from who she was a few months ago. It was hard to believe that a few months ago, this was the person who was throwing the slushies instead of defending the slushied.

Quinn turned, completely forgetting to be a bitch when Santana was near, and smiled at the petite brunette who was shyly standing nearby. "I got it. Thanks, hobbit." The way she said "hobbit" wasn't with any malice, though. In fact, there was almost an endearing tone to it. Rachel nodded, still pondering on the words as she turned with a grateful smile. It crossed her mind that if she wasn't so sensitive, maybe they could have been friends, that perhaps calling each other names was their form of showing love. Perhaps the only person standing in the way of their friendship…was herself. Rachel smiled softly, hearing Quinn's grateful tone echo in her ears as she climbed down the stairs. At the last step, she paused.

"Thanks again, Santana," Rachel said over her shoulder.

Even though she didn't say it explicitly, Santana felt Rachel's gratitude for what she did in the hallway. The good Samaritan feelings washed over her, leaving her feeling a little better despite her weak heart beats. Santana smiled a real smile, genuine enough to spread a little warmth seep into her soul, despite how cold the room felt. She nodded at Rachel's back while Quinn continued to look perplexed by the strange interaction. They watched Rachel Berry walk out of the auditorium, the loud _clunk _of the doors assuring the privacy of closed doors and an empty room.

Quinn poked the slight girl in the arm with a finger and lightly teased, "So when did you become Mother Teresa?" Her playful voice didn't betray the concern that was twisting her gut inside; a broken Santana was something to be worried about.

"Isn't there some sort of rule about not kicking someone while they're down? I'm literally down, you know. I could be dying," Santana's brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing angrily, her lips pursing in a pout but her smiling tone said otherwise. She bit her cheek to hold back her smile at the sight of Quinn teasing her, scrunching her nose slightly.

"Daaaaamn," Quinn chuckled. Santana, still wrapped in Quinn's arms, felt the blonde's chest shake just a bit with her laughter. "Look at this mama of drama over here. You trip once and call it a life-threatening illness."

Her laugh was melodious and infectious. Santana started to laugh at the sound of it but went into a coughing fit. "Okay, okay, let's just get you out of here," Quinn said as she pulled her up to hold her. "Besides, this empty auditorium is freaky."

* * *

Vertigo is the sensation that you or the environment is spinning, even though you're not. Subjective vertigo is when you feel like you are moving; objective vertigo is when you feel like the surroundings are moving.

Santana was experiencing the curious sensation of objective vertigo. The world spun around her, taking her breath away. Quinn hoisted her up by the waist and half-carried the girl into the house. She frowned, hearing how shallow Santana's breath was, like the air was too thin. Santana had been quiet the entire ride home… and well, that's reason enough to be worried. It seemed like lately, they were constantly carrying each other. Still, Quinn seemed to carrying Santana more often.

Not that she minded holding the brunette in her arms.

As Quinn gently laid the girl on the couch, she pushed back the dark hair on Santana's forehead, damp with the strain of trying to breathe enough oxygen. She turned to grab a glass of water when Santana caught her. Quinn looked down to see a hand grabbing her wrist.

A weak voice asked her from behind, fear lacing the tone, "Still love me if I'm just a broken experiment instead of a revved-up superhuman?" When Quinn turned back, she felt her heart break at the sight of Santana, more vulnerable and scared than she had ever seen. The fierce Latina had never let it on but here, on this couch in front of her, she laid out her emotions for Quinn to read like a book.

Santana had her eyes closed, unable to bravely look at whatever expression must have been on Quinn's face. She felt the couch shift as Quinn sat beside her. Light fingers combed back her hair and when she opened her eyes, Santana saw Quinn smiling down at her. Her fingers continued softly rake back her dark hair. Santana closed her eyes again, taking in all the comfort and ease of the moment. There was nothing more she wanted than this moment to last forever, to feel Quinn's presence always beside her. She moved in a direction so far from where she was headed but here, with Quinn, she knew she ended up exactly where she was meant to be.

"Always," Quinn let out gently.

Santana felt a deep slumber attempting to pull her body through a darker hell but she needed to hear it again: "Say it again." Her voice pleaded, "Please." Santana needed to hear the words, knowing that Quinn's love was there like fresh batteries in flashlights in the emergency kits. It would be there when she woke up.

And the last whisper she heard before she gave into heavy-lidded recharging sleep was "I love you."

* * *

Hey, all!

Chapter 15 wasn't the last of Lara. Things will pan out and you'll see what happens but all in due time. It will take some time before we get there. I know I'm not updating as frequently but be patient with me; I've never written a fanfic so I'm still learning the ropes. Also, this will move beyond just the few characters I've included so far. As you can see, it will go on to include some other characters.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave me a review and let me know what you think. Seriously, some of your reviews totally crack me up and makes this whole process even a greater joy than I thought it could ever be. I love writing for you guys as much as I do for me.

As always, happy reading!


	17. I: The First Cut is the Deepest

I already have the next chapter completed but I feel like I should keep a consistent schedule of when I update. Like a new chapter every...Friday at midnight? What do you think?

PS. Damn, the next chapter was so emotionally draining. I couldn't stop writing it though. Always a good sign, right?

* * *

**Chapter 17: The First Cut is the Deepest**

* * *

"What are you reading?" A sleepy brunette peered curiously at Quinn through her sleep-induced haze.

"Beauty and the Beast," Quinn looked up from her book and smiled cheekily at the girl. "Disney version, with the happy ending." Santana cringed inwardly, unable to stop herself from drawing the parallels between the Disney fairytale and the story unfolding between Quinn and herself. A beautiful girl, a beast. _At least, he's got a castle._ A sorrowful expression flickered on Santana's face, fleeting quickly but not before Quinn caught a glimpse of it.

Santana, with her chin on her hand and the rest of her body laying temptingly down the couch, poked a finger into the white cushion distractedly. She softly murmured to herself, to the cushion, more than to Quinn, "Not all tales end happily."

The blonde floated as she crossed over to sit next by Santana's legs, the cushion dipped to accommodate for the small girl and the brunette's body curved just slightly around Quinn. Her head lay close to Quinn's legs, close enough to breathe in that ever-comforting scent of jasmine that lingered sweetly. The hand Quinn placed on Santana's thigh traced small circles, sending small shivers up Santana's spine.

"Everything is good, in the end. If it's not, it's not the end." Quinn smirked.

Santana slapped Quinn lightly on her thigh, "I told you that from a bumper sticker I saw!" She laughed in disbelief that Quinn could remember the cheesy words she read off of a bumper sticker and told her in the seventh grade. It was so long ago and in middle school, those words seemed so profound. Now, it just sounded idealistic.

"It's true, though!" Quinn exclaimed, pretending to rub the spot that Santana slapped like it hurt. "Happy endings exist, I promise." She bent to press her lips against Santana's forehead. The spot she kissed so tenderly seared and tingled, leaving Santana a little light-headed.

"How long was I asleep?" Santana's throat felt dry.

Santana had been sleeping awhile, so peacefully for once that it put even Quinn at ease. Quinn appreciated the quiet space they shared; it felt intimate and as though the world only existed for the two of them. It gave her time to appreciate Santana's sleeping body like a distracting, infinite screen saver: it never changed but somehow, absolutely mesmerizing even after several hours. "Since yesterday…"

Santana's eyes widened at Quinn's answer. "Bleh," she groaned and buried her face into the couch. "I feel like someone just took a hammer to my head and had a fucking party with it."

Quinn giggled, "Too much partying?" Santana used to say that when she woke up with a hangover, almost always demanding a mimosa in the morning. _"A hangover's best cure, Q?"_ Santana would quiz slyly as she winked. _"Hair of the dog that bit ya!" _

"I wish that was the reason." Santana's voice was muffled by the couch cushions. It was impossible not to smile at the sight of her face planted firmly in the cushions where her hangover-like symptoms slowly eased by the cool fabric against her cheeks. The sight was just too adorable but with one problem from Quinn's view.

"Hey, beautiful," Quinn reached and gently pulled Santana away from the cushions to face her. "Don't be hiding that face. It's a damn crime," Quinn admonished playfully with a smile.

Santana blushed and grinned, her pleasure from Quinn's blatant compliment warming her body. She stretched back, arching and twisting. "I could get used to waking up like this, you know." Feline or not, the stretch felt good as it cranked out all the cricks left behind by her near-coma. For Quinn, however, it was a bit of torture, to watch Santana's shirt bunch up in the process and reveal the slightest sliver of beautifully caramel-toned skin just by her delicate hipbones. It took all of her willpower and sitting on her free hand to keep from reaching over to place her lips on that bare skin.

"Yes but I'd rather you not have to black out every time just to sleep," Quinn, lost in her temptation, spoke her mind without filtering.

Santana's demeanor crumpled visibly at Quinn's words. She had forgotten for a moment.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Quinn tried to backtrack when she saw the effects of her words. She pulled Santana up to bring her into a tight hug. Santana was surprised by the force with which Quinn gripped her. Desperation, desire, worry, anxiety, lust, love all mixed and flooded into Santana at contact, making her draw in a breath in surprise. The emotions were clearly Quinn's but she felt each one as deeply and thoroughly as though it was her own. She could single out the emotions and pick them apart. But most strongly, she felt love and unwavering faith that they would pull through this together. _How can you know that? _Santana asked silently. Quinn's chin tucked into the crook of her neck. "I just worry about you and I hate that…" How does she put this? "...you seem to be a little under the weather lately."

"Under the weather?" Santana laughed wryly, without humor. She pulled back, letting Quinn's arms slide down her arms and land gracefully by her elbow crooks. "You can say it, you know... I ain't that fragile."

But contrary to her words, Santana took one hand to slowly drag up and down along the opposite arm, idly, leaving angry red marks where her nails raked. Quinn watched her move through an anxious routine, from scratching deeply into her skin to slowly clenching and unclenching her fists. Her nails left little dents in her palms. Quinn took Santana's palms into her own and brought them to her lips, placing a kiss on each one. Santana smiled momentarily before she fell back into her consuming thoughts.

"I don't get it," Santana released through her teeth, frustration dangerously lacing her tone. "One minute, I'm holding up two hundred pounds with one hand," Quinn looked surprised, unsure of when Santana discovered this tidbit since she didn't see her take on a jock, but bit her words back to let the brunette rant."…and blitzing across the country like roadrunner and then, the next thing I know, I can't feel anything but cold, the world is getting thinner and…" Her voice wandered off, her gaze looking at something beyond what was in front of her.

"We'll just have to figure it out and I got you covered like foundation on a drag queen, S," Quinn quipped, reaching over to kiss Santana's temple. Santana, at least, cracked a smile, meager as it was. She sighed and placed her forehead on the side of Santana's head. This was all she needed, this proximity, this place only they knew and shared. "But today, I have to go home and settle Yale stuff with my mom." Santana's shoulders fell a little. "I'll be back, though, I promise. I'll text you when I'm done, yeah?" She reached out one hand to lift Santana's chin and turn her gaze. "You gonna be okay by yourself for a bit?"

"Girl, you clearly don't know me," Santana joked, swatting away her hand. But her eyes gave away her early onset separation anxiety. "I'm like all the best of all animals, queen of the jungle, or haven't you heard?" She pulled away promptly, taking a moment to do her best to reel her vulnerability in, and got up from the couch, leaving Quinn to embrace only the scent of cinnamon lingering where Santana had sat. Santana walked away, calling out, "I'm gonna shower. I'll see you later?"

It was a Saturday and Santana had a mission on her mind.

Quinn sucked in her breath slowly, hissing, as she watched Santana pull off her shirt while she walked towards the bathroom upstairs. Her bare back facing Quinn and with her shirt at hand, she looked over her shoulder and winked, knowing the effect she had on the blonde. Quinn's desire was tangible as the shirt in her hand. She sauntered up the stairs.

Quinn groaned quietly and flopped forward onto the cushion, doing everything possible to keep herself from running to join in on that shower.

* * *

Some addictions are painful to wean from.

And this craving for information came to Santana like a masochistic addiction. She couldn't stop herself from searching for more answers, even when it always hurt. Like the first time she hurt herself to see if she would heal, each strand of information could be separated into infinite prisms of pain. The beauty and tragedy of her life was fascinating and morbid. It was like the first time she pressed a kitchen blade into her arm to watch her skin stitch together, hurting in her moment of fascination but unable to do anything else. Each cut made it that much easier to comprehend her newfound regeneration. And knowing where she came from, _finally_ having a name to the place, finding Lara, all these things fed an addiction that felt like it was consuming her, pulling her in with each fact the universe released. The one thing in her life that pushed it away, managed to keep it at bay, was talking to her mother about Yale stuff.

Quinn was an addiction, too, no doubt. Yet, it was a delicious, never-satisfying, constantly-surprising addiction. Those perfectly almond-shaped eyes dismissed everything else. The shades and subtle nuances of hazel and emerald drew Santana in, When Santana looked at her, she felt…. When Santana touched her, felt her, breathed her in, she felt… And this is where language of love fails. To try to pin down the warm and omnipresent light that seeped into the darkest edges of Santana's mind when she saw Quinn is to confront the utter lack and insufficiency of language. Language is too much, too little, too excessive, and too deficient. There wasn't enough and at the same time, it was too much. It was cliché and genuine, cheesy and romantic, precise and vague, refined and chaotic, all at once. Unlike the search for information, which Santana could choose to push away and keep at bay, the blonde gave no choice. Quinn drew her in with something as inescapable as gravity.

But if Quinn, in her angelic entirety, was an addiction, the only cure that Santana could find was to press herself into the blonde, tuck her misfit edges and angles into the embracing arms, and tumble headfirst into a never-ending, never-ceasing gaze that made her heart stutter. The only thing she knew was how to close the space between the blonde and herself, climbing over the walls she built herself.

And Quinn often saw her, into the cracks of her walls where light and tears often leaked through.

Emotionally drained, Santana rubbed her wet hair with a towel in one hand as she looked down on at the crumpled paper in front of her. The paper moved slightly as she sighed heavily. Quinn was gone for a few hours. Who knows maybe she'll be gone until tomorrow? Santana didn't like that she wasn't with her but she had a mission and maybe, it would be best if Quinn weren't here for that particular display of recklessness that most addicts suffered. She leaned back, regarding the paper with a considerable amount of interest.

The paper in front of her was all wrinkled from being jammed into her pocket in haste. She put down the towel and took her hands to smooth out the paper.

_Allele, Inc._ was written boldly across the top. It was the letter she shoved into her pocket before Lara flipped a damn switch and tried to get them killed. The invitation to rejoin the lab enraged Santana. The _audacity_ of the people who think they're gods. Each word on the paper made anger surge swiftly through her veins.

But she knew all too well, knowledge was addictive and Santana was addicted. She needed to know everything and the little information she had was not enough. She needed to see this place. If she saw the place, maybe some of these answers would come together. The pieces of the story will finally make sense, dots would connect, and she could move on, in whatever sense. She hadn't even responded to the college acceptance letters for God's sake because the temptation itched and Santana needed to scratch.

She pressed the letter firmly on the table having made her decision. _It's good Quinn isn't here_, Santana winced just imagining if the blonde decided to tag along, completely throwing herself in danger for Santana's sake. If Santana was going to be stupid, it would probably be best to contain it to herself. She walked to her closet, looking for form-fitting clothes that would make it easier for her move. One finger pressed into her lips as she considered her clothing. Having finally chosen appropriate attire, she pulled on the clothes snugly formed around her figure.

Her fingers typed furiously on her phone as she sent out a text. _Hey, Q, I'm gonna head out for a bit. I'll let you know when I'm back? Have fun at the house of Fabray!_

She tried to make the text nonchalant as possible. There was no immediate response. She clicked new message: _Hey, Britts, do me a favor? Call Quinn to hang out, okay? _

_Bzzbzz. _Her phone alerted a new message from Brittany. _Okay! :) Why aren't you coming? Play with us! _

_Sorry, Britts, I gots to get some stuff done but I'll swing by after and show ya'll a real party. Loves_.

Brittany always replied quickly: _K, Tana, see you later! _She silenced her phone after she got the text, arriving at the last step onto her driveway. At least, Quinn would be distracted for awhile; Brittany always knew how to ensure they had a good time.

From a distance, it was impossible to make out anything but her silhouette in the setting sun as Santana stood in front of her house, bracing herself for what she was about to do. Santana shook her head, her hair so dark it was near black, glossy and ebony as a raven's feathers. The setting sun gave only a faint indication of the dark blue jeans and tight red Cheerio jersey she wore, just barely showing color along the edges of her silhouette. If you squinted, really looked and squinted at the figure, you could barely make her initials. And in one swift movement, the figure was gone, a flash of red and blue left behind by the colors and dust that couldn't keep up with her.

* * *

Quinn rapped her fingers on the kitchen table, sitting across from her mother. Her mother beamed as she read the acceptance letter, pride flickering in her eyes. She looked around as she waited for her mother to fully read the letter. How different it was now that her father was gone. When she closed her eyes, she could just imagine his face, his reaction. Her father's eyes would scan the acceptance letter from Yale coldly, not even a flicker of pride. It was stunning, really, how much human emotion he managed to smother. Despite the deceiving impression of a cozy home, the Fabray home was a emotionless, cold, stony place for so many years; being here, reminded of darker times in her life, made her want to be with Santana, lying next to her, on her, with her. Tangling their bodies and hands and arms and legs. But her parents' divorce made the home more manageable to be in, for a few hours at least. It was only her mother and herself.

"So you chose Yale?" her mother brought the smile to Quinn's face.

Blonde locks bounced as she nodded, "Mmhmm, I think it'll be a good fit for me."

"You sure you won't be too homesick? I know you didn't to leave your friends behind." Judy's lips pursed with concern. Her daughter managed to handle the separation from her father so well that it made her wonder how she filled that void.

"I…" Quinn didn't know what to say. "I think it'll be okay. Britt, San, and I will be fine, we always are." She shrugged her shoulders indifferently, doing her best to conceal how much she cared for her girls.

Judy nodded, accepting Quinn's answer. The girls never had trouble before. In fact, the concern she ever really had was how closely they grew. They grew like vines, rather than trees. Instead of growing tall and slowly apart from each other, they grew inwardly and intertwining with such closeness that Judy never could quite understand.

"You did a great job," Judy came over to her side of the table to hug her. "I'm very proud of you."

Quinn smiled, letting her gratitude show without even a trace of bitterness. So much had changed between the two. "Thanks, mom." She leaned into the hug, letting her mother enjoy the moment of pride.

Judy pulled back as Quinn sat back down. "Now go on to Santana's. I know you're anxious to go spend some time with your friends before you graduate." Judy looked pointedly at Quinn's hands, tapping impatiently on the table. Quinn laughed. Her mother knew her too well sometimes.

"Thanks," she called to her mom as she ran upstairs to stuff some more clothes into a bag, phone in hand to text Santana. Judy shook her head in disbelief that she had once let her daughter leave the house with no intention to return; it was amazing what one was capable of when they were in love. But with their relationship now mended in the absence of her father, Judy was openly supportive, openly loving, openly proud of the woman her daughter was growing up to be.

Quinn's fingers typed furiously, anxiously, matching her rapid steps up to her room: _S, what're you up to? Finished up at home_.

No reply. Quinn frowned.

She opened her text inbox, hoping to find a text from Santana, and found a text from Brittany instead: _Hey, Q! Come over? Santana said she's gonna take awhile. I have ice cream and Lord Tubbington misses you!_

Quinn bit her bottom lip, slightly worried by what could keep Santana but… _a few hours with Britt sounds like it can be fun, even with her crazy cat_. Quinn replied, _Alright, Britts, I'm on my way. See you soon!_ An unsettling feeling eased into Quinn's mind, unnerving her and wishing she were with the brunette, no matter how much fun and calories Brittany promised.

* * *

Somewhere hundreds of miles west, a red-and-blue blur came to a stop in front of a towering building. The sun has not yet set here; it is still afternoon and people are moving in and out of the building.

In grey capital letters, across the top of the glass entrance, it read **ALLELE, INC.**

* * *

Short chapter but prepping for many things to come!

Hope you have all been having a lovely weekend. Let me know what you think and as always, happy reading!


	18. I: If We Burst at the Seams, This is Why

Chapter 18: If We Burst at the Seams, This is Why

* * *

The room read _Storage_ on its white label. Deeming it safe, Santana pushed through the door into a small room that was, indeed, used for storage.

For a long time, she stood outside the building, obscured by a grove of trees, and had doubted whether or not to come into the building... when she saw Lara in a window several stories above her; at that point, there wasn't much she could do to change her mind. Her body bolted forward, almost on its own accord. It didn't take much to slip past the security detectors and guards planted at every entrance, not when the perpetrator moves lightning fast at least. She didn't have enough metal on her to be sensed by the detectors and well, the keycards were only checked by the guards, mere mortals who moved at an achingly slow pace. They didn't recognize that someone had flashed past them. The stairs were easier to take without being noticed and she climbed up the stories, three steps at a time and pausing at each floor to carefully examine the directory posted by the door on each floor. She stopped on the seventh floor; it read: Research and Observational Studies – ECC. Her heart stopped on the last three letters. _ECC. Enhanced… Capability…Conjecture._ A slow beat thudded in her ears. This floor, this seventh floor of an inconspicuous building out in the middle of a random state was Point A, where it all started. It is the womb, so to speak. The fact that she was here was almost too much to grasp. Regardless of the lack of conviction, Santana felt the need to move on and forward, peeking through the door to quickly scan the hallways.

No presence of a camera anywhere, only white. White walls, white floors, white lab coats. People walked in their lab coats, looking down at the clipboards as they walked. She stepped out cautiously and walked down the halls, half-expecting someone to jump out and handcuff her. The others only glanced at her curiously, this young girl in red and blue that walked amongst them, but quickly dismissed her from their thoughts as they returned to their own work, their own subjects demanding attention.

She came to a stop in front of this storage room, dizzy with the smell of chemicals and Clorox exuding from the walls. When she slipped in, Santana leaned against the door and slid down, exhausted from being nervous, anxious, apprehensive, scared but powerless to stop herself from going forward with her pursuit of answers. The whole day felt like a tug-of-war between her need to find information and her basic human instinct to stay alive. _I can't believe I'm doing this_, she shook her head. This felt a lot more dangerous than she had anticipated. Her heart decided to start a drum line in her chest, pounding away until she felt her blood pulse in her ears. _This is stupid, this is so stupid_, she couldn't even remember the last time she did something this dumb.

_Oh yeah, jump off a water tower, hunt down a woman that worked for a company that already tried to kill me once, countless times I cried, passing out in front of Berry_. In retrospect, all of that was pretty dumb, too, although passing out wasn't really choice.

Santana leaned her head against the door behind, taking in the enormity of the situation. She knocked her head the back of her head softly in disbelief of her own recklessness, trying to understand what took over her to come here with no plan, not even an escape route.

_I'm smarter than this_, she rubbed her thighs anxiously. _Well, usually_.

Santana gauged her surroundings. The storage room was full of boxes on thin, metal shelves. Santana pried open a box and sighed out a breath of relief when she saw what was inside: piles of white lab coats. As she pulled one out, she knocked into another box with curious clanking sounds. Clipboards. Papers. Pens. It was like the gods were smiling on her today. _Let's just hope they're not playing a sick prank_, she thought as she slipped into the coat. The unused fabric was cool against her skin, the tan skin made warm with anxiety and nerves. It completely obscured her name on the back of her jersey, leaving only a sliver of the red shirt visible under the front buttons. She used the black hair band around her wrist to make a low ponytail, like she had seen other women walking around wearing. _Ugly but professional_, she shrugged her shoulders as she paused to study her reflection in the small mirror that hung by the door, her hand still on the door knob.

She inhaled and stepped into the hallway. Each step sounded like one part of a two-syllable word:

_An-swers._

_An-swers._

_An-swers._

No one looked at her. She let out the breath she was holding as she realized how inconspicuous she was. With the lab coat and clipboard, Santana passed as any other person walking around from room to room. Thanks to the lab coat that hid her under the identity of someone who actually belonged here, she walked with the confidence of someone who already worked at Allele, Inc. The thought of working here made her shudder inwardly with disgust. The sheer scent of bleach that seemed to radiate off the walls made bile rise in her throat.

One room was filled with vials of glowing green liquids. It smelled like rotten eggs and the room was lit only by black lights, the white coats glowing brightly under its light. She gagged almost reflexively at the smell. Researchers moved from station to station, trying to make sense of numbers being printed as they looked at the vials through microscopes lens. God knows what those liquids did and how they were injected. What torture did those victims suffer? What torture was packaged into vials and distributed? And to whom? Who would endure the consequences of humans who thought they were gods?

Santana quickly found out.

In next room, chirps, growls, barks sounded, muted only by the glass walls the sounds were caged behind. Creatures paced around and around their closed spaces. A long white table displayed an array of scales, fur, claws, horns, nails. Along the wall, there were ways to strap down and confine writhing animals. . Somewhere from the deep end of the room, a creature squealed with pain. Unable to handle watching those she shared blood with suffer what she suffered once, Santana quickly left the room. _Someday_, she promised, taking one last wistful glimpse before the door shut behind her.

Another room was full of boxes of papers. Just an archive of all the subjects. Only one other person was in the room and he seemed preoccupied with his folder. Santana slid a box out and pulled a folder. The label said, "ECC-B32". Someone scribbled "Ben" underneath, handwriting distinctively different from Lara's handwriting. Santana peered at what the only other person was looking at; from where she stood, she could make "ECC-G45". It hit her: the room was an archive of the thousands of ECC subjects created here. So many boxes, endless rows meant thousands of subjects.

From room to room down the hallway, she went through the different stages it must have taken to makeSantana. The rooms only solidified what she had been denying as an unnecessarily long nightmare until now; she truly was a misfit. No wonder she ended up in Glee. It was nauseating to see but Santana couldn't stop the journey that was necessary to create "artificial beings."

Artificial beings. The phrase left a bitter taste in her mouth. Santana heard "artificial beings" slip from some passing researcher's mouth in reference to a subject and it made her cringe. Artificial being, like she was a robot. She wasn't a robot but she was, without a doubt, stitched together by the hands of humans clearly needed to be shoved off their pedestal.

An entire language to describe what had been indescribable to Santana this whole floated with ease across the floor. Words like "subjects" and "patient" were quickly interchanged, variables that used the entire range of the alphabet were labeled on everything. Numbers were everywhere.

And yet, it didn't make sense to Santana. Not because she couldn't understand the words. She very well could, thanks to IQ granted by these _generous_ people. In fact, she could probably run the algorithms herself and point out the flaws in the equations. No, she could understand it but it didn't make sense because these words weren't even close to describing Santana's life, only creating it. Her experience involved people and emotions, thoughts and problems. It involved a blonde who helped her feel brave enough, normal enough to find out some answers. No, this scientific language didn't come close to describing Santana.

Her feet came to stop in front of an office at one end of the hall. When she slipped in through the door, it wasn't like the other rooms. It was an office, files everywhere with lab reports. By the looks of it, the office was whoever directed the program. There was take-out on the coffee table and a dark blue comforter thrown over a black couch in the completely white room. The name plate on the desk spelled: **Lara Amaral**, Senior Researcher. _And of course, the fucking icing on the cake_.

Santana's finger grazed along the tabletop, lightly touching the glass shelves behind the desk. Books, vials, papers were cluttered behind the glass. Small thermal cabinets sat tucked away. _So this is Lara's life_, Santana couldn't help but be curious about the woman who fostered her, despite the whole attempted-murder bit. Files were neatly stacked behind her. _She's meticulous_. Her desk was arranged, six pens laying on her desk, half-inch apart from each other. There was three black pens, one blue, two reds. _Or just crazy._ The latter was probably true, considering recent and past events.

Two pair of footsteps approached the room, leaving Santana frozen in a spot behind the desk.

"And make sure that subject 52 is properly processed." A voice came through the door, muffled and unfortunately familiar. "The artificial monoamine neurotransmitter on subject 51 failed last time but without the report. It'll result in the same problems as… well. Just make sure."

The door knob began to turn. Santana couldn't move. This wasn't in the plan. _Or the plan I never had_, Santana wanted to slap herself.

A quiet _creeeeeeeak_ sounded as Lara stepped into the room, reading a document on the clipboard in her hand. The other pair of heels faded away. Santana stared at the woman who still didn't know she was there, the door closing quietly behind her. _Now or never_.

Santana cleared her throat. Lara looked up, surprised at the unexpected presence but it was nothing compared to the utter shock she felt when she saw that it was Santana who made the sound. She rooted to the ground, unable to comprehend what was happening. Both women paused, staring at each other.

"What are you doing here?" the older brunette whispered frantically. Her eyes scanned the room, horror etched in her face. It was almost comical how scared she seemed to be of Santana, the fear flooding into her voice. _Damn right_, Santana thought. _She better be fucking scared of me now._ She didn't let her anger reach her cold expression or her nonchalant attitude.

"I needed to see this place. It didn't make sense to me." Santana shrugged casually as though it was just a casual conversation over coffee, not between someone who had been very significant to her at one point and herself. _A murderer, a sister, a friend, a colleague, t his woman lived too many roles for one lifetime_, Santana mused. But it seemed that this was one role that she was committed to lately. The take-out carton was still warm, Santana could gather from the small traces of steam rising from the half-filled carton. The comforter was a little worn, as though it's been used a lot lately. Even Lara's clothes were wrinkled under the smooth new lab coat, the scent of new clothes coming from the coat but not the clothes. She clearly hadn't left the place in awhile.

"Santana, you need to go," Lara urged.

"No," Santana snapped. "Why are you still doing this? What are you even doing?"

"Please, you need to go. You're just on a witch hunt."

Santana retorted, "Only because there are witches."

Silence hung uncomfortably. Lara slowly scaled the perimeter of the room, letting her footsteps echo in her bare office as she circled the room closer to Santana. Santana kept her glare on the woman, feeling her senses tingling as she came closer. She reached her desk, only a few steps from Santana. Santana held her gaze, defiance and a glint of anger in her eyes.

Lara asked hesitatingly, "May I?" Her hands gestured towards the computer on her desk. "I'll give you the files, but you need to leave. Please." The last word came out pleading with a trace of desperation. She pulled a small blue flashdrive from her coat pocket, transparent enough to see the green and gold grids underneath the blue. Lara was willing over to hand over everything. The fear and urgency in her voice suddenly made sense to Santana.

She wasn't scared _of_ Santana but _for_ Santana. Santana's abrasive behavior softened just a little upon the distinction and she consented by stepping back to let Lara come to her computer and to maintain some distance between the two. Santana wasn't suspicious of the woman anymore but she wasn't stupid. _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me._

Lara moved forward swiftly, inserting the drive into her computer. Her eyes scanned the screen as she dragged and dropped various files. The drive beeped and hummed, a small green blinking light indicating a transfer. Lara stepped back, hands lifted to show she wasn't holding anything dangerous. They waited, Lara still with her hands raised by her head like she was being arrested, their silence interrupted by the quiet beeps of the transfer. The hundreds of gigabytes, even with the accelerated transferring that Allele incorporated into each of their computers for efficient processing, would still take some time.

The silence tempted Santana and she felt compelled to take advantage of the moment, "Why did you do it?" She didn't need to explain what she was referring to. It's a question most people ask when there is an attempted murder. _Why?_ Usually the next question is _how_ but the answer to that was being transferred onto a flashdrive.

"These are dangerous people, Santana," Lara continued to whisper. "Everything in my house had microphones. They would have known you were there if I said anything. That's why I left the letter on the table, mixed with my mail." She smiled a little proudly. "I knew you were smart enough to get out, you knew they would come. I knew you cared about your girlfriend enough to run." Santana's eyes widened at "girlfriend" but she didn't do anything to contradict her. Despite the strong air-conditioned currents in the room that sent chills and raised goosebumps on her skin, Santana immediately warmed at the word and thought of Quinn, though she didn't show it. In that moment, of all the stupid things she had done that day, she was grateful that she was smart enough to not bring Quinn.

"I wanted to explain everything to you but once Allele have their eyes set on someone, they're adamant." Lara's voice sounded exhausted. "They left me no choice, despite what the inviting letter may imply. They are _relentless_, Santana." Bitterness punctuated each word.

Only then did Santana look closely at Lara. Her eyes looked tired, dark circles under the eyes like she wasn't sleeping well. Her skin seemed worn, as though she hadn't taken care of it. It was even pale, like it hadn't seen any sunlight in days. Unlived years had gotten here first. The leftover food on her table, the wrinkled clothes. She wasn't here by choice, Santana realized. Lara was a prisoner at Allele and she was trying to keep Santana from becoming a caged guinea pig here. Her blatant fear made the fine hair on the back of Santana's neck stand.

Santana let out another question, unable to stem her addiction for more answers. "What's happening to me?"

Lara's eyebrows raised in question, unsure of what Santana was referring to. "I don't know? What's happening?"

The younger brunette let out a shaky sigh. "I'm passing out. My heart feels weaker. My breath gets shallow. I have headaches often." Her body shuddered at the recollection of the experiences where she felt weakened. Each time had been a painful experience, physically and emotionally. Her whole being ached when she went into these fits, like she was losing control. But seeing Quinn worried, anxious, well, that hurt a lot more, in places much deeper than her body.

Lara's eyebrows stitched together as she carefully considered how to answer the question. Santana could read how unexpected this was for her. "You know how I said that you showed the most potential of the omicron generation?"

Santana nodded, remembering every part of that conversation too well and now carried it with her. The words were as much part of her as though it was branded with hot irons into her flesh, scored into muscles, scratched into her bones. She carried and felt these words deeply, everyday.

"It was because all other omicron-gen subjects failed to survive," Lara sighed sadly. She clearly loved some of them, if not all. "The reason we have generations is not only because we are experimenting different genetic codes, unique combinations but also because we needed a chance to fix our mistakes. Omicron generation uses specifically reptile DNA because we wanted to maintain the regenerative abilities of various reptiles. The consequence, in short, was that subjects were prone to slower heart rates, a condition with symptoms similar to bradycardia. Cold-blooded animals can slow their hearts dramatically at low temperatures because they need to take on the temperature of its environment instead of using energy to maintain a constant body temperature. When the cold-blooded organism becomes colder, their hearts beat slower with less energy to draw from."

"We couldn't control that aspect in the omicron generation. Your hearts would slow sporadically in conjunction with the different genetic expressions we drew from. In almost all cases, the condition was so severe that it resulted in heart failure." Lara paused to gather her thoughts for a moment.

"If you are passing out but only for moments, the condition isn't as bad. Andrew, Omicron 44, your younger brother," Santana looked startled. It was hard to understand the others as brothers and sisters, but… _If I think about it, that's what we are_. And suddenly, her heart ached for all the people she shared blood with but never met. Lara bit her lip at the sight of Santana realizing how many dead relatives she had. "Well, Andrew would fall into cardiac arrests constantly every few hours. We kept him under observation until we had to let go simply because he couldn't survive anymore."

Tears gathered at the corner of Santana's eyes before releasing in wet trails down her face. _Andrew_, she repeated in her mind, _Andrew, my brother_. The thought of all those people she lost and never knew and the thought of her own coming death…

"I'm dying, aren't I? Like the rest of them?" Santana croaked. _It's too soon_, she wanted to cry. There were too many moments she wanted now that she knew she wasn't going to have them. Each hypothetical moment flashed before and in all the moments in all the lives she would never live, she saw Quinn in every single one. But Santana felt the answer with every weak heartbeat in her chest.

"Experimenting with different combinations of cross-genetic codes is always unpredictable, Santana," Lara spoke tenderly. "We're figuring it out, how to fix it, even in existing subjects. That's what our research is now, to go back and find fixes for each problematic case before we go on to create new generations. We're figuring it out."

Santana's eyes widened slightly at the implications of her statement. _There's a cure... And they're going to try making more like me. _Two questions itched at the back of her throat, the first making its way into her voice. Santana sucked in a nervous breath before spilling her question.

"Is– is there a cure for me?"

Lara shook her head and stepped towards the glass shelves behind her desk, closer to Santana. "Not exactly."

Santana backed away, still suspicious despite the long confession Lara just made. Lara reached for one of the vials in a cabinet just behind the glass on the shelves. The dark red liquid inside sloshed quietly as she pulled it out slowly, careful not to startle Santana. Still holding up one hand to show she's unarmed, Lara offered the vial with her other hand.

Santana eyed it doubtfully.

"It's a prototype of a genetic complement we made to stabilize the omicron generation. It mixes some of the original omicron code but with self-replicating artificial cells," Lara answered Santana's unspoken question. "It will complement the different parts of your code that regulate body temperature and heart rate. Kind of like restoring a more human side of your body."

Santana narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Lara wavered a moment but held firm. "Nothing else, I promise. It's just temporary, maybe lasting a few years but we're getting close to a permanent solution. If you survive until then…" The glaring _if_ hit Santana hard in the gut. There was a great possibility that she wouldn't.

Their tan hands met as Santana took the vial. The glass felt cold and unfamiliar in her hands. Lara nodded, "You just have to inject it with a syringe."

_How can I trust you? _Santana couldn't help still doubt the woman. How was she supposed to know any of this wasn't just to stall for time? Or that this liquid wouldn't make her grow scales or sprout fur? How was she to trust her? She so badly wanted to, though. To know that someone had once loved her, cared for her like the parents that left, enough to save her.

Both women looked down when the flashdrive beeped a complete transfer.

Lara took it from the computer and offered it. When Santana's hand met her own, she held onto Santana's hand and pulled her into an embrace, surprising Santana. But Lara wasn't hugging Santana but the baby sister that never grew up, one that would have looked something like Santana with her spirit and face had she the chance to live, the one she missed every time she looked at Santana. The Cheerio stood stiffly before slowly giving into hug, collapsing with silent tears, mourning for the family she never knew. The hundreds of brothers and sisters who were related to her somehow, from Andrew to Jason to any other generation. She and they were parallel lines: hundreds of people who set out with the same lives in the same circumstances, people who would have understood each other, but never to cross paths. The two women clung onto each other in an embrace that held onto people who were long gone. The hug made fissures in the hard wall of Santana's suspicions.

"I'm so sorry, Santana." The words felt genuine, the sincere tone discordant with the white walls that just screamed of dishonesty.

Lara pulled back, wiping tears from her own eyes. Mascara smeared slightly onto her white labcoat sleeves. Santana nodded, for the first time in the conversation, believing her. With vial and flashdrive tucked safely into her jeans, Santana made a move towards the door.

"Wait," Lara said as she crossed the room to reach the door first. She poked her head out before drawing back and nodding at the clipboard Santana had left on her desk. Santana gripped the clipboard close to her body and the two walked towards the stairs silently, trying not to gather any attention. The white hallways were quiet.

They entered the stairwells and Lara's voice dropped to a whisper again. "There are no cameras here but we should be careful. They can't know." Santana nodded, not wanting to even ask what the consequences would be if "they" did. "There are only cameras on the second, third and fourth floor. The research floors aren't monitored because of the potential laws we're breaking." _Makes sense, assholes_, Santana thought bitterly as their steps echoed up and down the empty stairwell.

"How did you get past the security detectors?" Lara looked at Santana and realized Santana didn't have a badge that would have granted entrance.

"I ran really fast," Santana shrugged.

Lara shook her head, "You can't do that leaving. The exits have thin laser lights that set off alarms when the lights are interrupted. Even if you run fast enough, there will be a blink. I don't even know what setting those off will do."

"Do you have a keycard to leave?" Santana saw other people swiping their cards and the lights blinking.

Lara shook her head. "I… I can't leave."

Santana felt her heart thud with the weight of her words and sadness, looking at the woman. She may not trust Lara but no one should be kept prisoner of a place like this.

"Come with me." Lara looked up at Santana's request. There was no reason that she shouldn't, none that Santana could think of.

"We won't make it a mile. They'll know if I were gone." Lara smiled sadly, accepting her own fate.

Santana laughed quietly, "We'll make it several hundred miles. I'll carry you."

It took a moment for Lara to decide before she slowly nodded. "We still have a problem of getting out. We can try to run…" She let out her words slowly, tasting the danger on her tongue. "Maybe nothing will happen." Lara looked up hopefully. Santana doubted nothing would happen but it was worth the shot.

At the lobby floor of the stair well, Santana hitched Lara onto her back. She was so thin and frail from weeks of stressful guilt, it wasn't difficult for Santana to carry her.

Inhale, exhale. Santana carefully measured her breath as she prepared to run for it.

_Stupidest thing I've done_, the thought ran through Santana's mind for the hundredth time that day. She swung the door open and blasted forward.

Wind burst in Lara's face, forcing her to shut her eyes and tuck her face into the back of Santana's shoulders. Her arms looped tightly around Santana's neck but careful not to choke her. Her lab coat flying behind her.

Alarms blared from a few feet behind but quickly fading as Santana sped away.

_Crack. _Santana's rapid feet stuttered at the unmistakable sound of gunshots, familiar to her ears since Lara's house. She felt Lara gasp sharply.

She couldn't distinguish how many were actually shot and how many were just the echoes in her ears. Warm liquid seeped slowly into Santana's back, terror slowing her down to a stop. Her surroundings came to focus as she slowed. She let Lara slowly slide from her back as she turned to look at the woman leaning into her. They had made it far away but not fast enough.

Lara's eyes slowly slid down the front of her own body. Red gushed onto the front of her white lab coat, slowly soaking her coat and all her clothes underneath. It made soft drip noises as blood trickled onto the road beneath her feet.

Lara took in a shuddering breath before she fell forward, barely covering the sound of tires screeching miles away in Santana's ears. _Someone is coming for us_, she realized, her ears perking in the direction of the unwelcome approach. She laid Lara down, right there on the gravel of an abandoned street, cradling her head in her lap. Miles of desert stretched around them, two figures alone on the lone road. Santana slowly opened her coat and counted three gunshot wounds where blood was streaming from. Two of them were in her chest, one just a few inches above her stomach.

"We made it a mile, at least," Lara coughed, trying to muster a smile and a joke in the gravity of the moment. It wasn't enough to make the situation better. Santana's tears dripped onto Lara's hair. They stayed like that for awhile, Santana crying quietly while Lara tried to draw in shallow breaths, oxygen leaking out of her lungs as quickly as she drew them. Blood pooled on the gravel below them, spreading across the tiny rocks and soaking the bottom of Santana's lab coat and the back of her jeans. Santana couldn't bring herself to move, even though she heard the tires screeching closer and closer but still miles away.

"You look so much like Alexis," Lara's voice barely reached her ears, so weak. She lifted her hand to cup Santana's cheek. "I think I always looked for Lexi in you. When you laughed, when you cried, I saw my baby sister. We shouldn't have become so attached… or had favorites if we attached ourselves to our subjects. It fucks up our objective standpoints."

The profanity sounded harsh in her voice, jarring against the affectionate tone. All the bitterness was shoved into that one-worded curse, efficiently attacking Allele for her losses, her guilt, her imprisonment and now her impending death. Her fingers stroked Santana's cheeks softly, searching for her baby sister in Santana's face. When she looked at Lara, Lara wasn't looking back at her; the woman found someone else where Santana was sitting. Lara's hand dropped to grasp Santana's wrist, fingers toying with the red seaglass stones, the red hues reflecting the red blood on her clothes.

She coughed, blood coming up to drip from the edge of her mouth.

"You need to go," she whispered to Santana, like she had so many times in a few short hours. The ground rumbled and even Lara could hear the approaching cars, the screech of its tires echoing across the empty land. Santana shook her head.

"You need to go."

It came out more urgently.

"Please."

Her voice was pleading, begging.

"I can't save you this time."

All at once, all the suspicions that Santana held onto vanished, the hard wall barricading her crumbling down.

Lara smiled, affectionately, the light in her eyes already fading.

"Give them hell, Lexi." The ghost of a smile lingered on Lara's lips, her hands slowly releasing its grip from Santana's wrists.

One final shuddering breath escaped Lara's body before the lights completely went out from her dark eyes. Santana choked back her sobs as she laid Lara down gingerly on the gravely, carefully smoothing down Lara's hair. With the brush of a hand, Lara's eyes closed. She closed the labcoat, covering the wounds but not the blood, and placed Lara's hands over her chest. Santana stood up, a silhouette in the sun finally setting in the west. She took one wistful look as black cars came into view on the horizon, hazy in the heat and distance. The face of a free woman lay peacefully at her feet, the exhaustion leaving her body as lifelessness settled into the still body.

A few hours ago, the sun had set on a girl with a mission on her mind. A few hours later, the sun was setting again, but on an entirely different girl. Lives were changed in mere hours.

So like she always had when she was unsure of what to do, when she was overwhelmed, when the world needed to be silenced, Santana ran. The miles drowned out the sound of gunshots that reverberated in her mind, a mind so full that it was brimming over with unrecognizable variations of sorrow. She pushed herself through hundreds of stoplights, each asking her to stop and go, stop and go, stop and go. The hard gravel road underneath gave chiseled kisses, chipping away her strength. Regardless of the way the red lights incessantly begged her to stay and yellow lights asked her to hold on, Santana kept on running, the only trace of her fleeting presence being the trail of tears left behind across the vast span behind her. A trail of teardrops, a tear here, another tear miles away, followed her across the lands all the way home. For all the times that her body managed to mend itself, it couldn't seem to mend her heart. Above all the reasons she ran, she ran to find the arms of the one girl that could put her heart back together.

* * *

Quinn leaned her head against Brittany's shoulder, watching the night sky emerge from the water tower. This place reminded them of someone else, rendering them into silent contemplation. They observe as lights turned on all across the city, wordlessly. Even Brittany's bouncy attitude had tempered down to a quiet thoughtful state, one that mimicked Quinn's. The two sat quietly, the moon shedding light onto their unmoving silhouettes, the well-being of a certain brunette on both their minds.

* * *

Hey, guys,

Things are slowly unfolding but there's still so much of the story left. I can't believe that this isn't even halfway. Maybe it's like...33.33% of the way through. Is that a good or bad thing? I don't know... haha. This chapter was absolutely exhausting and emotionally draining to write. I feel like I watched her die in my head over and over again.

I never wanted Lara to be a bad guy and I'm glad to know you guys were on the same page as me. I think what's often sad is that acts of love of always unnoticed; how sad it would have been to be misunderstood as the bad guy for your whole life and to have died as one. Thankfully, the truth manages to come out. If I have successfully conveyed even a fraction of how much Lara loved Santana, how much she loved her baby sister, Alexis (Lexi), then I pat myself on the back; I always have trouble painting these things with words.

I hope you guys enjoyed this and please let me know what you think. I always love hearing what you guys have to say and your reviews always motivate me to write more precisely, more eloquently (and longer. Damn, do you notice how long these chapters are compared to when I first started this story? Hahaha).

Happy reading!


	19. I: Just Heart and Body

**Chapter 19: Just Heart and Body**

* * *

People describe phantom limb as the sensation that amputees experience after they lose a limb. Even though the body part is gone, they claim to feel the limb still. It itches, it hurts, it aches. The sensation is convincing enough that, despite the absence, the victims of phantom limb sensation believe that the limbs are growing, or back, or something along those lines that makes them reject the reality.

As Quinn stared at the TV screen, playing some Disney movie that Brittany turned on, she knew all at once what having a phantom limb felt like, to be constantly looking for something that was there enough to make the presence feel completely natural but its absence completely foreign, like her body was searching for something that was long gone.

Quinn knew she couldn't fall sleep at Brittany's house; her leg jittered, she tapped her fingers impatiently, she chewed at her bottom lip. Her body was too antsy to get home to Santana's arms, ready to wrap herself in Santana's presence. Even the mere scent of Santana on the sheets would make her feel closer to brunette, wherever she was, enough to quiet her mind long enough to sleep. She kept looking over her shoulder, looking for Santana just by her, right behind her, a hair-breadth away from snaking her arms around the blonde's shoulder, seconds away from brushing her lips on Quinn's cheek, the sharp scent of cinnamon lingering. But the touch was just beyond her reach. The anticipation of Santana's skin against hers was almost tangible, despite the fact of the matter being that Santana wasn't anywhere to be found.

So when the movie was done, the pizza and ice cream eaten, and a night sky took over outside, she slung her overnight bag over her shoulder, hugged Brittany goodbye, and headed over to a place that housed a girl who was all the home she ever needed.

Quinn climbed up the front steps from the circle driveway leading to Santana's house. These steps she climbed were familiar, having climbed them so many times with the brunette. Yet they felt strange to her now; it wasn't complete without the presence of another girl, one who intertwined their hands in the greatest display of affection that girl had ever publicly shown.

With every step up the steps, into the unlocked house (this neighborhood was way too well-off with their three patrolling cars; everyone left their million dollar homes wide open without fear of ever being broken into), and up the rounding staircase to Santana's room, she felt the absence of a part of her so convincingly that it was perceptible enough to make her feel like Santana was actually there. Even though a kiss with Santana was only a memory, the absence of that kiss brushed her lips and all she could think was, _S, where are you?_

* * *

The moon threw long, white streaks of light through the bedroom window, illuminating the figure that stood in front of a full-length mirror. Santana stared at a reflection unfamiliar to herself in front of her.

The girl in the mirror was wearing a lab coat.

The girl in the mirror was drenched in blood.

The girl in the mirror had red eyes from crying.

Even now, that girl's chest rose and fell rapidly, her body attempting to still its racing heart.

Who was this girl looking back at her? The girl in the mirror looked so broken and because she looked so worn away with sadness, tragedy, anger, the girl in the mirror was unfamiliar to Santana. Because even as Santana stared at her grief and sadness in the mirror staring back at her, she felt nothing at all, empty, all the emotions leaking out the cracks of her soul. There was only the numbness that follows after trauma, her mind using disbelief and denial to superglue the shards of her humanity together again.

A few answers about her condition, a few answers about her past cost Lara's life and her innocence. Hours came and went, leaving only the faded memory of happiness that once existed, faint as the smoke that lingers after a fire. And Santana felt herself slowly coming undone, left with partial answers to the unasked questions, stripped down to her most bare state with her desires, emotions, and thoughts right on the surface, all the things she pushed down for so long.

Recent events replayed on the backsides of her eyelids when she closed them like a broken movie reel, tears gathered on the corners of her eyes. When she opened them, a fresh film of tears veiled her eyes, obscuring her vision as she glanced at the vial and flashdrive on her desk in the further corner of the room from her. She tossed the items there haphazardly as she crossed the room towards the bathroom, ready to wash off the day's events from her body, before she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Or, more precisely, the girl, who is not her but is her, staring back at her from the mirror.

When something fluttered, something moved.

Santana's eyes flickered at the movement behind her in the mirror. A serene presence floated behind her, hovering with all the polish and beauty of the moon and more.

Santana turned to face whatever ghost of Grace Kelly lingered in her home but sucked in her breath at the sight of Quinn, gazing back at her. The blonde's hair glowed almost white in the moonlight, a pale sheen of light that pronounced a hushed beauty. It tumbled softly onto the porcelain skin that covered her delicate collarbones, her shoulders, onto the simple clothes that defined Quinn's taste in fashion, outside her Cheerio uniform. Tonight, she donned a tight black shirt that made her skin look even lighter than usual. Jeans fit snugly around her legs. Boots hugged her calves. The green seaglass looping her wrist casted a slight tint onto her skin. _It feels like a lifetime ago we made those_, Santana couldn't help thinking when her gaze scanned down Quinn's figure, pausing at the bracelet.

Quinn's bag dropped from her shoulder, her eyes widening just slightly as she took in the sight of Santana and the blood that soaked through her clothes. No matter how many times she watched Santana's body stitch itself back together, an inexplicable fear of losing her crashed into the blonde, leaving her breathless, scared, and with desire to bring Santana into a hug and never let go. The splash of blood smeared across Santana's jaw contrasted with the caramel skin, a few shades lighter in this moonlight. Faint wet streaks tracked down Santana's sadness, the traces of her sorrow. Quinn couldn't fathom how someone could look so tragically beautiful, an exquisiteness only enhanced by grief. Her sadness crossed the room and seeped into Quinn's body, leaving two people who shared all the brokenness in the world.

All at once, suddenly and completely, as she met the gaze of inquisitive and full green eyes, Santana felt every inch of uninvited emotion trespass into her jaded soul, her emotionless body. They came so unexpectedly and rapidly that she couldn't distinguish elation from sorrow, happiness from desolation, hope from hopelessness. Santana didn't realize that they climbed close enough to the surface to be read easily by Quinn.

The two figures took a silent moment to take in the sight of each other, awestruck by each other's beauty, Santana's beauty in her vulnerability laid bare in the aftermath of tragedy, Quinn's beauty exposed by the moon that quietly submitted itself to a greater magnificence in the form of a blonde. In that moment, Quinn felt no lust, only the pure compulsion to meld herself into the girl in front of her, to be the part of her that could soak up the tragedy and erase the blemishes of life's cruelty.

Santana slowly glided, almost floated, towards the blonde, compelled the way a magnet is drawn to another without choice. It was completely outside of her rationality, which screamed at her to stay away, to back away from the one thing that could break the dam of emotions slowly drowning her body from the inside. Even though she did her best to hold herself together, everything about her, everything within her, everything happening to her was transparent to Quinn. When she looked at Santana, she saw into the fractures of her heart, every crack of her wholeness that went unnoticed by everyone else. A lifetime of devastation sanded down Santana's natural ferocity to a vulnerable version of Santana that looked back at her.

Quinn searched her face, deducing everything about Santana's feelings with a glance. Santana didn't need to say what happened; Quinn could read all the important things in her eyes. Her capacity to understand people, one that she wielded against most of the high school population to make them bow before the Unholy Trinity, flipped to make her exactly what Santana needed: to be understood.

As Santana approached within arm's length, Quinn reached out a hand, using her thumb to wipe away one stray tear that ran down Santana's cheek. Santana shivered under her touch. At the brush of Quinn's fingers, light on her cheeks, Santana's arms unconsciously grasped at Quinn's neck and abruptly yanked her into a kiss. Lips on lips brought on a quiet crash of two bodies, tangling their limbs in the overwhelming need to be together. Quinn pushed into the kiss, pulled by the force of her own desire. Her hands tugged the lab coat off of Santana, pushing it off enough to drop onto the floor.

They stumbled towards the bed, reaching in blind darkness, lips still pressed firmly against each other. Santana felt herself pushed onto the bed, Quinn leaning her weight on top of her body. Lips that desperately searched for contact never broke apart; tongues danced, leaving the taste of each other seared permanently in their memories. For the years that would follow, they would remember this taste, this indescribable quality that reminded them again and again of each other.

There wasn't enough contact, there wasn't enough _togetherness_. Hands roamed bodies, nails raking ribcages, exploring the intimate places of each other's bodies under their shirts with courage for the first time. Fingers traced the contours of abs, the ridges of raised rib cages, rising and dipping into the dents and hollows, the jutting edges of hipbones. Even though it wasn't their first time being with someone, they moved with all the curiosity and lack of knowledge of another's body that melded so perfectly into their own body and soul. This was different from the drunken nights of mindless exploring in the aftermath of high school parties; the only intoxication was from the nakedness of every sin, desire, tragedy, ecstasy they laid out for each other to discover. There was no taste of beer, no taste of cheap vodka, no haze, no nausea. They were each other's intoxication.

Santana felt Quinn's chest heaving, panting hard, torn between seeking air and seeking more contact. Hands fumbled to take off the clothes trapped between their pressed bodies until Quinn, frustrated, pulled back, her weight lifting off of Santana's upper body but leaving her legs to pin Santana's lower body against the bed.

Santana watched intently, her back still pressed against the bed, not moving to stop her, as Quinn slowly pushed up Santana's shirt, bunching up in her hands, before completely lifting it off above Santana's head. She crossed her arms and pulled off her own shirt, revealing a dark bra, the pattern of the lace barely visible in the faint light.

Santana watched intently, not moving to stop her, as Quinn unhurriedly lowered herself to reach under Santana's body to unsnap her bra. She reached around her back to unsnap her own.

Santana watched intently, trying to temper her disbelief to convince herself that these moments were happening. She tried to commit this fragment of beauty as vividly as Lara's still body, the black cars on the horizon, the echoes of gunshots; if there was anything she wanted to remember, it was a snapshot of this moment, with this stunning girl, stunning being the understatement of the year.

Quinn swept their bras overhead, the fabric making a quiet sound as they hit the ground somewhere beyond them. Neither even noticed the sound. Quinn leaned forward, her blonde hair brushing the side of Santana's face.

Goosebumps rose under her touch as Quinn lightly grazed one finger down Santana's chest, along the dip of her abdomen, to meet the hem of her jeans. Slender fingers popped open the button on Santana's jeans. They continued to stare deeply into each other's eyes, ignoring what was happening below their gaze, both unwilling to break eye contact. The zipper made a quiet _zzzzzt _as Quinn slowly pulled the clasp down, taking measured breaths to understand the gravity of their actions. Santana lifted her legs in consent, letting Quinn peel the jeans completely off as the blonde took steps away. With a few feet placed between them, she took advantage of the moment to take of her boots, landing with heavy _thunks_ as she tossed them aside. Santana stared as Quinn undid her own jeans, kicked them off, slowly approached the bed.

She pressed her hands on either side of Santana and hovered above the brunette, hesitating on what to do next until Santana wrapped her legs around the crooks of Quinn's knee's and completely knocked her forward. Just as Quinn was about to fully fall onto Santana's body, the brunette swiftly and adeptly flipped them. For one moment, when Quinn's back had not yet reached the bed, Santana hovered above her, holding her up in mid-air for a second before she released both of them to land on the bed. It was the only unusual thing she did. Even though Santana had the force of mountain lions inside of her, she moved against Quinn with the grace of a feline, the tenderness of someone who _loved_ her. As they slowly descended back onto a solid surface, Santana pressed her lips against Quinn's with all the desperation of an insatiable need.

Bare skin met bare skin, flushed with warmth. The only thing Quinn could think was, _It was never like this_. Kissing anyone else, Finn, Puck, felt rough and foreign; kissing Santana, on the other hand, never felt more familiar and natural, like this was how it was supposed to be and her body knew what her mind hadn't this whole time. She almost cringed at the cliché but knew in the moment to be true: it wasn't sex, it was making love. As cheesy as the words sounded in her head, she finally understood the distinction.

Santana drew her body closer, closing any sliver of space between them, pushing deeper into their kiss. Quinn could taste the saltiness of her tears that had leaked down her cheeks, onto her lips. They scrambled to take up more space on the bed, no longer using the edges but the entire span of the queen-sized mattress. Sheets stuck to their bodies, damp from each other's body heat.

Santana brought her thigh between Quinn's legs, the friction causing Quinn to sharply inhale against Santana's mouth, breathing in Santana as she gasped. Her hips rocked at the touch, steadily creating a rhythm. Quinn felt her body coiling up slowly, the edging sensation of being close to snapping. When she would snap, Quinn couldn't imagine what it would feel like.

"San—San—" Quinn struggled to find breath in midst of the welcome friction, writhing and arching, her blonde hair matted and pushed back. Still keeping the slow rhythm of their grinding, Santana kissed along her jawline, tongue tracing along the smooth skin of her neck, lightly sucking at her heartbeat just below her jaw line, a pulse that beat so much stronger than Santana's. Santana pressed her lips firmly in the hollow of her clavicle. Quinn clawed against Santana's back, unknowingly leaving angry red scratches that disappear before they even fully formed. Moans vibrated deeply in their chests, echoing in all their movements.

Quinn pulled Santana up to her face; Santana lightly brushed her hands along the length of Quinn's arms to meet the blonde's clenching hands above their heads, intertwining them against the bed. The hard edge of Santana's hip bones grinded against heat between Quinn's legs; a thin veil of lacey underwear separated their skin.

Until Santana's hand rakes down Quinn's sides to dip past the thin lace barrier, to trace along the sensitive skin where her legs joined. Quinn gasped when Santana slipped a finger, then two, to make her nearly black out with waves of pleasure crashing heavily, pervasively, onto her. Quinn's insides tightened Santana's fingers, trying to compensate for an unexplored pleasure. Santana leaned in and kisses those lips, still moving rhythmically inside of her. She carried the pace until she felt Quinn, despite being lost in all her ecstasy, reached for the same place just under Santana's underwear, thumb pressing and circling in just the right place, in just the right time, with just enough pressure to make Santana give up any control she had over their pace. Lost in the rhythmic cycle of pleasure and pleasing, Santana could hardly breathe.

Santana panted heavily, "I—Quinn—We—" Husky moans escaped where she tried to say words and failed. Santana struggled to form coherent thoughts and complete sentences when she felt Quinn moving with her, inside her. Her head spun, dizzy with the consciousness of the blonde she loved.

They moved faster, their bodies rocking as the two felt themselves pushing into unknown places of their bodies and minds together. This wasn't some genetically-engineered heat or all-natural human lust; this was Santana's heart finally fighting, finally crying out, finally pushing for what it had wanted with every beat since Santana met Quinn.

Their bodies stiffened against each other as the two wavered near an edge. Santana squeezed her eyes shut, never breaking rhythm, but unwilling give in. It felt impossible to let go of control, to give into this feeling that loomed just over the edge threatened to consume her. But when she felt Quinn tighten around her fingers and moan as the blonde toppled over the edge, when the tight coil in Quinn's core finally snapped, when Quinn curled her fingers inside of her, Santana followed after, willingly tumbling over the edge into a blissful unknown.

In a single moment of delicate vulnerability, Santana gasped at the waves of a new pleasure. Fireworks burst in her eyes, toes curling as her body collapsed onto Quinn's, trembling against Quinn's own quaking body. Every nerve screamed with sensation and pleasure. The feeling ripped through their bodies, the waves of pleasure so strong and overwhelming and gradually simmering down to trembling, her body still jerking just slightly with each wave.

Santana's heart faltered in the most delicious way, still threatening to give out any moment. With her eyes shut, she willed herself _not now, not now._

Quinn wrapped her arms around Santana's body that lay on top of her, both rising and falling as they struggled for breath, her orgasm fading into satisfying tremors. Even as Quinn's heart stilled, Santana's continued to beat rapidly, fainter and fainter each time, like it was buckling under the weight of loving someone too much. She reached her arms around, tucking her hands under Quinn's back, her upper body slightly on top of Quinn's. Even with their bodies tightly against each other, Quinn could only feel her own heart beat. But they lay like that, still reveling in the aftermath.

The heart Santana felt collapsing in her chest left a vacuum, ready to fill up with whatever was available. Quinn had flooded into that space, releasing all the built-up anguish in Santana.

It was silent, even to Santana. She, who normally could hear everything from the breath of a sleeping child sixteen countries and one ocean away, couldn't hear anything but the echo of Quinn's moans, the memory of them becoming the standard to which all future encounters would be compared to. They were sweet to her ears, persuading Santana that she couldn't be a bad person, not if she could make an angel like Quinn sing her name. Her mind still mourned, though, leaking tears onto Quinn's chest and running down the blonde's sides before soaking into the sheets.

When Quinn felt the tears on her chest, she leaned forward just enough to bury a kiss in Santana's hair. Finally holding the phantom girl, the part of her that eluded her grasp in memory satisfied Quinn in inexplicable ways. The two clung onto each other, wondering how they were lucky enough to be holding the best thing that ever happened to them.

* * *

Santana woke up first, aware of being awake even though she didn't open her eyes. Yesterday came back like a hangover, the blood, the building, the gunshots piecing together in her mind. As sleep left her mind, lifting the haze, she felt soft skin under her hands. When she opened her dark eyes, they met Quinn's face, still asleep with the soft imprint of the folds from the sheets pressed into her cheek. They faced each other, their bodies curved towards each other. A white sheet wrapped half-way up Quinn's stomach, the shape of Santana's hand perched on Quinn's hip under the sheet. Santana pressed her fingers gently into Quinn's flesh, working to convince herself that she was really there, that last night was real.

Santana didn't know how much time passed while she stared at Quinn, content to stare at such a face for the rest of her life. A strand of blonde hair waved gently as Quinn's breath pushed and pulled. Quinn shifted closer, still asleep, and reached forward for Santana, stretching her arms until they wrapped around Santana's upper body and pulled their bare bodies closer.

Quinn's eyelids fluttered in her dreams, unknown to Santana. But by the look of the small smile that played gracefully on full, pink lips, it seemed to be a good one. Santana grinned at the sight.

There was no impatience scratching in unreachable places of her mind. There was no dissatisfaction or insatiable desire. For one moment in her life, as Quinn blinked her eyes awake, the vivid green eyes clouded with sleep, Santana knew she could spend her life watching this girl wake up.

"I love you," she murmured softly, almost sadly, to the sleepy blonde. She said it with the weight of all the guilt she felt from damning Quinn to her inexplicable, underwhelming love, from being the only one who seems to have escaped Allele's claws, from being the way she was and hoping it was enough while she knew it wasn't. The words weighed heavily with all the yesterdays she lived without the blonde, all the thoughts she never could say well, and all the smiles she ever held back. In three words, she gave everything she had to Quinn and didn't want anything back; she felt lucky enough to have these moments. Whatever non-human parts ran her body, she felt those words resonate truthfully with each weak beat of her heart. Santana dropped her gaze to her hand, which was idly tracing the words "I love you" idly in Quinn's shoulder.

The blonde woke up to three words strung together to form a sentence that made her feel like she wanted to stay frozen in this moment forever. She had to blink to make sure she wasn't dreaming that Santana had said it but when she saw the sadness in Santana's eyes, when she felt her own heart plummet, when she say the brunette shy for the first time, when her fingers bravely and unconsciously traced the words that were so difficult for her to say, Quinn knew there was no mistake to what she just heard. Quinn thought of all the ways to respond, all the ways to give back what Santana had just given her. Those words, contrary to what Santana thought, were far from underwhelming; they were more than she had hoped. What way would be best to convince her that Quinn wanted no one else, nothing more, than the girl lying inches from her face? She found words to be lacking, to say the least. There weren't enough adjectives, verbs, nouns in any language, much less English, to bridge what she felt to what she wanted Santana to understand.

Quinn cupped Santana's cheek, leaning forward to plant a firm kiss. She left her hand there, caressing Santana's sad expression, as she whispered against Santana's lips, "I love you, too, more than you know." She kept her eyes shut as she pressed her forehead against Santana's and chuckled. "I'm going to need knee pads for the way I'm falling for you." _So don't doubt it, please._

* * *

Hey, all,

Sorry for making you cry last time! If it's any consolation, I wrote this chapter with your tears in mind :) Kind of. It was a long time coming, too. Writing this was harder than I realized... I hope it came across well enough.

Also, if it makes you feel better about the direction of the story, I'm kind of a sucker for happy endings. I don't know, does that make you feel better?

I'm hitting a slight writer's block so... let's hope I get over that pretty soon.

**Leave me a review, PM, whatever to let me know what you think :) We have quite a long way to go and many characters, years, and adventures to cover!**

_boringsiot_: Sorry for giving you the feels! Haha although, not gonna lie, I'm glad I can even accomplish that. And thanks, I'm happy with the brain I have.  
_leiram enaj_: I know the feeling :(  
_fiores1022_: S'ok, 'cause honestly, I write this sometimes at work. Haha, We are in the same boat!  
_All the guests who left those reviews_: You guys are the sweetest. Seriously.


	20. I: The Start of an End to This Chapter

BEFORE YOU READ, please listen to _From Here to the Moon and Back_ from Joyful Noise Soundtrack by Dolly Parton. It's kind of the glue to this story.

* * *

**Chapter 20: The Start of an End to This Chapter**

* * *

"Come on," Santana tugged at Quinn's hands as she led the blindfolded blonde behind her. She looked back at the blonde staggering behind her. Her arms would wave wildly for balance if Santana wasn't holding onto her hands. Santana held their intertwined hands behind her as she pulled them through what felt like a very long uphill, their clutched hands gently grazing Santana's lower back as they plowed onward.

"I can't move this quickly when I'm blind, crazy!" Quinn stumbled over something under her feet. Gravel (at least, it sounded like it) crunched under feet, drowned out by…. _What is that_?

Loud beats reverberated through her body, in her bones, in her thoughts. The bass hammered in her chest, making her feel small and fragile in face of the moving, overwhelming, consuming music. Even though her vision was obscured by a thin scarf Santana insisted on blindfolding her with, she could still make out lights flashing to the sounds. If Santana wasn't holding onto her, Quinn would have thought she lost her. A wave of moving bodies swayed around her, swallowing the two. It threatened to pull them apart but Santana's hands held onto hers firmly.

She felt Santana pull away the cloth, her eyes meeting the fresh air. They stood in the middle of a dancing crowd. Neon lights flashed pink, green, orange, yellow, throwing brief flashes of lights onto what seemed like a giant, crumbling coliseum around the swaying crowd. Fallen bricks scattered around the perimeter, just beyond the black speakers almost hidden in the night sky but impossible to ignore because they were clanging, banging, drumming, the source of all the chaos, urged on by flurries of rapid Spanish shot around her. The noise transformed every person into a free child, free to move, free to dance, free to jump.

Quinn laughed with abandon, throwing her arms around Santana and jumping onto the smaller girl to wrap her legs around her body. Santana spun the two of them in the little room that the crowd made for them. Quinn jumped off of her and stepped into the music, closing her eyes to let the music pound through her, the notes and voices washing her body like a flat pebble in a river. Santana watched for a moment, entranced by how the blonde looked like she was being swept away into somewhere else. Her hair glowed gold, giving off its own aura of light. Quinn brought her hands over her head as though she could hug the night sky. Beads of sweat glistened on their bodies as they moved together, arms tangling, jumping up and down. People, just as young at heart as they were, grabbed them, lifted them with the crowds, all bouncing to the same music. In this moment, they didn't have problems; only the music drowning out everything but each other.

Hours later, Santana eased a tired Quinn down from her back, her own body ached with exhaustion. Quinn smiled sleepily, leaning into Santana's side until Santana swept her into her arms and carried her onto the bed. When she gently laid the blonde on the bed, tugged her boots off, and peeled off Quinn's clothes, still damp from the dancing in wet soil and grass, the toned, bare body of one fine Quinn Fabray pushed all the breath out of Santana's body. The light pointed to her soft curves, the subtle contours of her abs, her toned muscles flexing as the blonde reached out her arms.

"You're so pretty," Quinn sleepily crooned, not noticing Santana's awe of her body, and looped her arms around Santana's neck to pull her in. Santana yelped a little, the strong yank being completely surprising considering how tired the blonde had looked, but she chuckled at Quinn's abandon in her drowsiness. Santana used one arm to prop herself up to look at Quinn, who laid flat on her back. Quinn felt her hair being combed back with soft, slender fingers, making her lips pull into a small smile. "So pretty, my Tanaaaaaa," she sang softly, dragging out the last note of her name.

Santana grinned widely, amused at the adorable sight. She whispered softly, "If my life was an ocean, I was drowning," Quinn's eyebrows stitched together as Santana paused to draw in a shaky breath, anticipating her next words. Quinn forced her heavy lids open to hear the end. Santana confessed the words earnestly, "And you taught me how to swim."

Quinn was definitely asleep now, her chest rising up and down with each deep breath. Santana placed one hand on Quinn's sternum, letting the deep breaths push up and down, up and down steadily. Santana continued, oddly reassured by the evenness of Quinn's heartbeat under her hand and not holding anything back now that the blonde was asleep, "I spent every day trying to feel less. Every day I felt less, became less. I became so little that I wouldn't have minded disappearing altogether. " Santana brushed back blonde strands, a radiant gold, one of God's many brilliant crayons. Quinn's magnetism pulled out unspoken thoughts from Santana. "But I wasn't just keeping myself from being sad; I was keeping myself from being happy."

A tortured inhale and exhale moved through Santana's body. "I wish we had more time, all the time that we could have had with each other, because you— you make me happy."

The words came back to her suddenly, some poem someone said so long ago that she couldn't remember it clearly except for these words, that hit her now because it rung so inconceivably true: "In your arms, I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters. I forget how to hold myself together."

Santana's confession ended with a promise: "But I love you now, from here to the moon and back." She pressed her lips in the blonde's temple before Santana shifted from the bed to get up and peel her own damp clothes off. It had been an exciting night, just like every night she shared with Quinn. Her clothes hit the ground softly as Santana walked towards the bathroom, half-naked, for a quick shower.

Small tears gathered up in the corner of Quinn's eyes as she, with shut eyes and a steady breath, replayed Santana's words in her half-asleep mind. Each word that she heard made her cry and smile, torn between feeling immensely sad for the tortured girl showering just a few feet away and absolutely elated that Santana loved her. She smiled gently at the familiar words of promise: _from here to the moon and back_.

* * *

It was always fragments of different scenes but the fear, the adrenaline, the blood, the tears were all still there in each moment.

In one fragment of a nightmare, there were hands. Hands everywhere. They raked her skin, clawing at her body, her hair. So many fingers, nails, palms intruded her space, she couldn't count them, held her down even though Santana wriggled and squirmed, trying to kick off all the restraints. Sometimes, she screamed. She screamed until her sides hurt, the lungs felt like they were collapsing, her eyes squeezed shut from the terror of so many things prodding and probing her body. Some nights, she just prayed for her own life to end so that it would all stop.

And the worst part came later, after what felt like hours.

The burning slice of a scalpel felt familiar, though Santana had never seen a scalpel in all her years in Lima, Ohio. Yet, her body remembered what her mind did not and it remembered the blades well. It remembered being cut open, day after day. It remembered the syringes injecting burning liquid into veins. The way bone cracks loudly when snapped too far apart. The fiery radiation that fucked up her insides, slowly but pervasively. The way they stopped her heart and then used paddles buzzing with electricity to restart it, easily as though it was some video game that came with a restart button. Each movement on her body felt angry, angry as Santana often felt. Until now, only the McKinley High student body received that wrath but these dreams slowly redirected her anger. Though the memories were well-erased from Santana's mind, whether it was muscle memory or just the trauma of the experiences, her body relived all the years of distress and pain in the form of nightmares, her mind finally catching up to what she had been through as an infant.

In another nightare, there were still hands. But those hands were Santana's, outstretched before her as Lara crumpled forward into Santana's arms. The heat of the desert made the black trucks and covered figures hazy in the distance. Warm dark red liquid spilled onto Santana's arms. "Give them hell, Lexi" echoed in the distance, like a long-forgotten song. Her body shook with sobs when she felt Lara go limp in her arms.

One particular nightmare, though, seared deep scars in dark corners of her mind, threatening to bloom into a full mental attack. It came often and powerfully.

It started out the same, with the weight of another person on her back until she heard the gunshots, the soft thump of bullets as it hit mark in the soft body on her back. She had barely gotten out of Allele when defense mechanisms shot up from the gates. They always made it out onto the road when Santana realized the warm spread of blood against her back and eased the person down. But where Lara stood just as she realized she was shot, Quinn stood. It always took Santana to recognize the desolate road, which pointed to what would soon transpire. Even as the horror gripped Santana, the overwhelming terror of living without Quinn ripped through her body, tearing at every sensitive nerve of her heart and mind. The guilt hit hard as she realized she didn't move fast enough to save Quinn; she couldn't move the blonde out of the way or step in front of the speeding bullets fast enough. Instead, she could only watch shock burst through Quinn's wide eyes as the blonde drew her gaze down to her own body. A red waterfall spilled forward, soaking the immaculate white coat that was Lara's, the red on white that starkly contrasting. Santana reached forward to catch her and eased to the floor with the weight of a dying lover, the footsteps of uninvited intruders pounding against the road closer and closer. It didn't matter, by then. And this was always the worst part. The feeling was hard to pin down but after the nightmare came back a few times, she finally could extract the overwhelming emotions, examining its many nuances.

It was despair. It was hopelessness. It was anguish. It had the taint of cold panic. It was many things that no combination of letters could properly describe. There was nothing that Santana, in all her enhanced and crippled state, could do to slow Death's merciless pursuit of someone she loved. She never understood the term of heartbreak but in her nightmares, she learned. Her heart, already broken as it was, refused to beat within its bony confines, relinquishing any claim to life now that the reason to live was quickly fading into another world in her arms. Surely, her body would shatter into a million fragments at any moment now.

Santana experienced herself reacting differently each time, new degrees of anger, sadness, guilt, fear. Some nights, she snarled at approaching guards, and something feral woke up inside and broke through her humanity as she tore across the empty road, her long legs striding with the intent to... to what? She wasn't sure. To rip apart the approaching figures, to make them pay for every inch of helplessness she felt as the blonde slowly died behind her. Other nights, the guards reached a sobbing girl, wrenching her away from the one person who mattered.

It didn't matter in the end, really, how she reacted. Quinn died again and again in her arms.

There were many more nightmares, sometimes too quick or too painful to recall in the morning. Every night solidified the reasons to save the blonde from Santana. The stain of blood and guilt couldn't quite be scrubbed away by a hot shower.

But when morning came and she found herself in gentle embrace, soothingly rocking a little, Santana's mind went fuzzy, unable to remember the horror until night returned to remind her. These arms that held her mended and broke her heart at the same time.

* * *

"Morning, sunshine," Quinn chirped perkily, setting down a cup of tea in front of a disgruntled Santana, still stuck in a sleepy haze. It wasn't any tea but it was tea that spoke to Quinn, just like Santana knew it would when she first encountered under a canvas canopy in the hazy heat of India. Something floral, something sweet, whatever it was, it was almost as soothing as Santana's skin pressed against hers, the scent of cinnamon that stirred in her memories, a brush of her lips, the grazing touch of fingertips. Almost. Quinn smiled at the sleepy girl, feeling her stomach fall as she acquainted herself with the feeling of falling in love. Santana's dark hair lay cascading her shoulders, a small frown stitched in her eyebrows in crankiness.

The mug clanked quietly against the marble island kitchen counter when Quinn set it down but the sound jolted Santana awake for a moment. But she weakly protested at nothing in particular, the din of the morning harsh in her ears. At least it's not so bad anymore, Santana thanked the universe for slowly learning how to control her hearing as she tuned out the sound of engines starting in Montana, a loud yelling match that started in Pusan, Korea, and a drill loudly biting into the cement on the streets of Barcelona, Spain. The din of the world hushed into a muted silence when Santana let go of her senses, when she concentrated on one sound over another. Or when she looked at the blonde beauty, elegant and silly all at once. Yep, a quiet world, Santana thought as she looked over the blonde, hearing only the steady beat of a girl standing in front of her.

"It should be illegal for anyone to be up this early, much less happy about it," Santana muttered but let the warmth of their tea soak into her body, waking her up. Quinn just laughed at the sight of a grumpy brunette, beautiful in midst of waking up, and swept forward to lightly peck her cheek. Santana let a small smile escape when she felt soft lips brush her cheek, sweeping jasmine into her space.

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" Quinn teased, winking at her. She reached over and ruffled Santana's hair with one hand.

"Gah!" Santana yelped, softly swatting Quinn's pestering fingers away.

But despite her attempt to look angry or at least scowl and pout, Santana couldn't stop herself from smiling, feeling Quinn's sarcasm and silliness lift her spirits.

This felt so easy, being together felt so natural. It had, for the weeks since their first night together, been more natural than Santana ever felt; it felt okay, for once, to be in her skin. Now, they were inseparable on a whole new level, finding ways to touch each other to keep themselves from actually starting an R-rated scene in the halls of McKinley High against the lockers (although no one would have protested). Hips pressed against hips, arms linked, fingers grazed suggestively. Smiles were exchanged. When they sat together in class, Quinn always reached over for Santana's hand and doodled on her arm, using it as an excuse to rub and caress her hand gently with the hand that wasn't preoccupied with doodling. Brittany grinned knowingly when she saw a touch, a glance here and there, picking up on more than most people ever did, despite what others may say about her and her lack of awareness. Santana's happiness was long overdue and there wasn't nothing better than her two best friends being in love, and with each other! Quinn made Santana smile and laugh more often in the past few months than she had her whole life. All of McKinley breathed a little easier with whatever was making the Unholy Trinity happy because there was no hint of anger, no looming feeling of imminent torture; the Unholy Trinity reigned with a firm but gentle grip on the school.

But when they left school, the Unholy Trinity just became three best friends without any restraints of expectations. The tall blonde giggled with joy, happy that her best friends were happy. Santana ran around them, arms spread out and with absolute delight. Quinn laughed freely, uninhibited, at ease. They took up space in Santana's house, slowly making it a home. Sometimes, dinner was grilled asparagus, seared scallops, and a spinach and romaine lettuce salad tossed with vinaigrette; sometimes, it was just a chicken-and-jalapeno pizza (Quinn thought the ingredients were weird but Santana swore by it; it turned out to be pretty damn amazing) and Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream. Three mattresses laid side-by-side in the corner of the ballroom, taking up space. They enjoyed their well-deserved senioritis (and junioritis) with late sleepovers. Three mattresses weren't really necessary, though, since they somehow all managed to end up on one mattress; proximity is best for sharing secrets late at night.

When Brittany couldn't spend the night, Santana turned on music, and grabbed Quinn by the hands. Sometimes, it was the RENT soundtrack, blasting La Vie Boheme, and Santana pulled Quinn to jump up and down on the mattresses; sometimes, it was quiet songs that made Santana spin Quinn and draw her close, one arm around the blonde's waist, one arm reaching for Quinn's hand, slowly intertwining their hands. Santana always sang quiet songs when they danced like that. She lifted Quinn by the waist, making her squeal, and spun until they fell back onto the mattress, unable to stop laughing.

Santana would ask sometimes sweetly for Quinn to close her eyes and Quinn would, never hesitating to give in to the girl's persuasion. She was always anticipating the new ways that the brunette surprised her with affection. Occasionally, she felt full, soft lips press firmly into hers, hands outstretching downward to carefully tangle fingers. Sometimes, the blonde felt herself lifted, the wind spinning around her, the ground rushing away from her. Santana's breath would tickle her as she whispered into her ears, "You can open them." Each time was a new place, a new treasure. A field of yellow and orange flowers, endless. Sometimes, a meadow with trees that stretched so high and wide that they couldn't see the sky, a green blanket on a quiet world. A rooftop view of Shanghai, the lights twinkling for miles in front of them. The sunrise over a stretch of a city. Once, they stole away into a dimly-lit jazz lounge to hear the sweet song from a seductive saxophone. The bartender didn't ask for ID, probably too entranced by Santana's mature demeanor and rocking body, clad with a leather jacket. Quinn bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything about how he was undressing Santana with his eyes, scanning her up and down. Quinn narrowed her eyes at him; he was taken aback by the cold anger that shot daggers into him and looked away. Another night, they jumped up and down wildly in dance party in Costa Rica, the ruins around them lit up with flashing neon lights, the beat of the party pounding wildly. Santana picked places Quinn would like, small treasures from the world, experiences that made her believe that Lima, Ohio wasn't the edge of the world; entire galaxies existed beyond the town limits. Santana surprised her with a whole new flavor of living each time she opened her eyes.

Even when she was grumpy, the way that the brunette was right now, Quinn wanted to lean over and kiss her, pull her up onto the counter and have her way, on this surface or any surface, really. Quinn wasn't picky when it came to Santana. But Santana seemed just moments away from being fully awake so, instead of throwing her onto the counter to relieve her morning sexual tension, she reached over to tickle Santana awake. Just as she was about to press her fingers into Santana's weak spot, a ticklish place just below her breasts, on the ridges of her side ribs that sent chills down her body, Santana snatched her hands and pulled at them to draw her whole body close. Quinn, suddenly flush against Santana's body, laid her cheek on Santana's shoulder. Santana smiled, knowing what to do next, and hummed a quiet melody, letting her chest vibrate with the deep notes that resonated from her soul to Quinn's.

_I could hold out my arms, say "I love you this much",_

_I could tell you how long I will long for your touch._

Her voice trilled lightly on the notes, making Quinn shiver. The life she had before knowing the real Santana, before they gave pieces of themselves to each other, seemed like an entirely different life, like watching two movies of different genres; one movie was over and a completely different movie had started, absolutely unrelated to the first movie. They were the same people but letting each other in changed the way they saw everything, the way you can go your whole life not knowing clarity until you put on glasses. Nothing in the world has actually changed, only how she saw it and Santana opened Quinn's eyes every day.

_How much and how far would I go to prove _

_The depth of the breadth of my love for you? _

Quinn buried her face in the soft fabric of Santana's shirt, her heart fluttering in anticipation of the words in the chorus; they were her favorite.

Santana hummed a bridge before breathing out the words she meant more than ever.

_From here to the moon and back,_

_Who else in this world will love you like that? _

_Love everlasting, I promise you that,_

_From here to the moon and back._

Santana twirled Quinn once and planted her lips on the girl as soon as she came to a stop, smiling into the kiss. A smile shimmered in her eyes as Santana sang a promise.

_From here to the moon and back._

Quinn softly sang back the next words in the duets, letting her angelic tones harmonize gently with the husky humming that sent chills down the blonde's body. No matter where Santana went, no matter what danger, trouble, heart ache she was going through, Quinn wanted to be there.

_Forever and always, I'll be where you're at,_

_From here to the moon and back._

Santana hummed as Quinn sang their last lines, hushed under her breath, like it was _their_ secret. Quinn's hand dropped from Santana's and looped into her bracelet, the red seaglass leaving a pinkish hue on Quinn's creamy skin.

_And I'll spend forever just proving that fact,_

_From here to the moon and back._

Struck with an idea, Santana reached to pull off Quinn's bracelet and then her own. She carefully untied the knots, the bracelets becoming just strings with translucent stones no them. She carefully picked one green sea glass stone, the one that most closely resembled Quinn's own emerald eyes, and gentled eased it out. With precise fingers, ones that could make Santana a great surgeon someday or disassemble teeny tiny bombs, Santana slid a ruby red stone into Quinn's bracelet and an emerald stone into her own bracelet. Quinn smiled as Santana tied it back together around Quinn's wrist, pleased by the red that came to be closely associated with Santana. It was like having a little piece of Santana with her.

Santana examined her own bracelet with quiet pleasure. The green wasn't quite as vivid or magnificent as Quinn's eyes but it was a close second. Santana felt a hand gently tilt her chin up, towards Quinn's, before their lips met in a chaste but full kiss. Quinn felt Santana's lips lift into a smile against her own lips.

The blonde snaked her arms around Santana's waist, where they hung loosely. Quinn felt her tension ease into contentment, ready to spend the rest of their life and whatever came after in these arms. Santana closed her eyes, their foreheads touching, letting the moment linger as long as possible. This felt right, this felt perfect. If only it weren't for the dark storm clouds raging on the edge of their senior year, threatening to strike with anger and wreak havoc onto these perfect moments.

* * *

When you examined each moment individually, actually, it really was perfect. But when Santana strung all the moments together, not just the beautiful pieces but also the shattered pieces that Allele managed to fragment her life into, the whole piece looked pretty fucking ugly. The moments she shared with Quinn were just small diamonds lost among the muddy backdrop that was the tragedy of Santana Lopez's life. The whole pieces came together like a stained glass window, each fragment breathtaking, but coming together to form an incomplete and rather bleak picture.

She still had yet to take the vial of whatever that Lara had given her, even though every heartbeat scolded her. Santana shoved it in a tin box, shoved that tin box in a bag, and shoved that bag in her freezer. Allele, Inc. managed to make its mark on her and that mark just happened to be a scar. When the echoes of the last conversation, the vivid flashbacks of a dying woman, the gush of red rung loudly in her mind, she shut herself down mentally, silently doubling numbers to drown out her own memories. So far, she got up to 8,589,924,592 before she started doubting herself. Maybe she slipped an extra 3 somewhere or forgot to carry a 6. By the time she became preoccupied by the numbers, the memories were fast fading.

Santana's tendency was to deny facts because every fact she learned scraped against her, raking claws into her being, leaving angry scratches on the tender spots of her existence. Some people just didn't like hear the truth because it shattered their illusions. So she was living in this blissful grey area, one foot in the darkness that Allele brought and one foot in the light that Quinn brought with her laughter, her silliness, her grace, beauty and everything that was Quinn.

_But Quinn deserves better_, Santana knew the words to be true. Not someone who is distracted all the time. Or a broken person. With almost no warning, her heart would feel like it was breaking apart or not beating at all. It took all strength to muster a normal expression, not letting pain or panic show on her face whenever she felt weak tremors. Santana stole away to the bathroom, to the kitchen, using any excuse to recover, her trembling body regaining some sort of normality. Each reoccurring experience that shredded her body left her agitated with herself; how could a revved up human be so broken? Wasn't she supposed to be, like, awesome or something? A frustrated scream left her body as a defeated sigh. _Quinn deserves better_.

In the morning, she often woke up in Quinn's arms; at some point in the night, the blonde pulled her close to hold her while Santana battled out her nightmares, eyes dancing and darting frantically under her eyelids. Everything replayed in her mind, coming for her at night, like a cassette tape stuck on a loop. It made Quinn want to help her but she couldn't reach for the deep places where Santana was most broken. The best she could do to ease Santana's darkest moments was to hold her, to rock her back and forth while the smaller girl whimpered in her sleep.

It wasn't that she was just broken but she was dangerous. Who knows who will be coming after her? Lara didn't just die from eating cookies and drinking tea; someone fucking shot her. Santana's breath hitched at the image of red gushing from Quinn's front, imagining the shock-filled eyes on the blonde, the soft crumple of her body, a quiet "oh" that would escape those perfectly pink lips. With a little bit of time, those eyes that pierced the truth out of Santana would fade into a dull shade of green, the light dimming slowly. Santana shook her head in a vain attempt to get rid of the hypothetical images that rampaged through her mind, just as chaotic and powerful as a stampede.

_I can't hold onto her… _It wasn't for her sake but for Quinn's.

Letting her thoughts become her decisions, she felt her mind gearing up to become a driver of intent, a conduit for the torrents of energy still bound up tightly in her body. Except this time, her mind and body didn't buzz with nervous excitement for new forms of pleasure, whether it was sex or just cuddling up to Quinn or letting Quinn's conversations spread warmth in her heart; it was preparing for excruciating pain that would manifest itself soon, like her body was anticipating the agonizing withdrawal symptoms of a crack addict.

Santana sighed while she lay on her back, tracing the intricate patterns of the high ceiling of the ballroom with her eyes, sinking into the mattress, as she let these thoughts run its usual course. Brittany lay quietly next to her. _Unusually_ quiet. The brunette had been so consumed in her own thoughts that she didn't realize how quietly the bubbly girl had contemplated for so many hours. Santana turned and looked at her like she just realized Brittany was there. Brittany's thoughts would make its way to her mouth soon enough and Santana was finally coming back down from her thoughts to talk to her. The blonde patiently held on until Santana seemed fully back in the present before launching into a sensitive topic.

"Are you going to break her heart, S?" Brittany softly inquired, not wanting catch Santana off guard. But she did, anyway, with her question. She didn't even have to say who she was referring to; they both knew that there was a particular blonde on Santana's mind. Santana turned her head, her cheek meeting the mattress as she looked at Brittany in surprise. So many people thought Brittany was slow but she was just working on a different frequency, picking up on different signals and languages than most people do; she could understood a lot more than people gave her credit for. Over the past few months, Brittany picked up and gleaned a lot of things, including little tidbits about Allele until she eventually put the whole puzzle together. At this point, Brittany probably knew more than the other blonde actually did. Her blue eyes were wide and inquisitive but never invasive, never demanding more than what Santana gave, despite how little and insufficient it often was.

There was no use in denying it. "I don't want to," Santana quietly confessed. "What if I have to, B?"

She knew Brittany wouldn't share this conversation with Quinn, who was as much her best friend as Santana was. The backs of her eyes stung just a little, warning her of how close to crying she was. The brunette was grateful that Quinn wasn't here, for once; she wanted to spend some time with her mother and Santana was relieved to let her go, though she would never admit needing space to sort herself out. Somehow, Quinn in person made her thoughts go flying out the window, her head all fuzzy when she smelled jasmine and something uniquely Quinn, her insides aching to be near the blonde.

Brittany nodded, oddly understanding of the predicament that Santana was in. Santana was kind of an extreme person, like the best and worst parts were pushed to the edges. When she was angry, she was furious, ready to unleash wrath. When she was sad, she curled deeply into her sorrow, feeling each strand of her sadness. When she hated, she hated with such intensity that hell would have been proud. But when she loved, she loved so selflessly, so generously, so unconditionally, that it almost always ended up hurting her more than helping her. And Brittany could see how much she loved Quinn, enough to try to give her better by making herself a martyr. Santana couldn't hide her brokenness from Brittany. Even when Santana tried to conceal her grimaces as her body revolted against her, Brittany felt Santana go stiff from time to time, the tremors barely making it to her muscles, the slight seizures and jerks her body made to compensate for holding it all in.

"You know I'm not right for her like this," Santana breathed out miserably, waving her hand at the word "this" vaguely. She so wanted to be. Loving her from here to the moon and back just didn't seem like enough, not when it seemed like Santana would need to be hospitalized at the very least.

Brittany propped herself to face Santana, who seemed intent on staring at the ceiling. She ran her fingers through Santana's long black hair affectionately. "But I also know you've never been happier and you're not happy nearly enough as you deserve." The words were so earnest, Santana almost cried right there. It was so much easier to be angry. She could control anger, manipulate it to channel it into more productive things; sadness, however, always controlled her. Leave it to Brittany to strip Santana of every layer and mask.

Brittany poked a finger into Santana's cheek, an innocent and loving gesture asking for Santana's smile. The brunette grinned at the movement, letting genuine gratitude reach her expressions. Brittany beamed, poking her again before roaming down to...

"Okay, okay!" Santana squealed when Brittany's hands tickled at her sides, half-tortured, half-gleeful, trying so hard to scramble away and yanking at the sheets in vain but Brittany pulled her by the back of her shirt. "Okay! Come on, I'm going to peeeeeeeeee!" Laughter bubbled out, unable to be restrained when Brittany tickled her, softly digging her fingers into toned sides, muscles tensing up under the probing hands. Santana teared up with each shriek, a thin film of tears escaping as she squeezed her eyes shut and squirmed. They continued to laugh as they fell deeper into the mattress.

Brittany grinned widely at the sight of Santana happy again, even if only for the moment, as she propped herself back onto her elbow to look at the laughing Latina; Brittany lived from moment-to-moment and what mattered right this moment was that her best friend smiled in this moment. Santana didn't let anyone come within touching distance of her, except for Brittany and Quinn so Brittany felt it was up to them to make sure that they kept her happy, even when she insisted on burying herself into a dark cave. Brittany placed her hand on Santana's forehead, pushing back messy dark locks, smiling at the girl who looked a smidgen more at ease.

"I don't know why or when you've accepted what people say," Brittany murmured sadly, softly poking her arm absentmindedly. "But you're not a bad person, never was and never will be."

"Hey, hey, I am pretty bad- ass!" Santana clipped cheekily and winked at Brittany, whose serious face was starting to make Santana nervous. It did nothing to ease the tone of the conversation.

"You are bad-ass," Brittany beamed earnestly before her tone dropped back to unfamiliar seriousness, like the weight of her words could alter the universe. It did alter Santana's, at least. "But you're not bad. Whoever was the first to lie to you was…. well, lying." She scanned Santana's face, etched with defeat. "You deserve love, S. You and Quinn… are supposed to be together." Brittany knew this as a fact so indisputable, it was etched in the fine print of their being, like she could read their DNA and that's what it said: Soulmate = Lucy Quinn Fabray.

Santana let Brittany's kindness wash over her, letting the words mend what her body, by artificial means, couldn't. "Trust me, B," she let out slowly. "Whatever heartbreak I put her through, I'm going to hurt myself so much worse but she can't be with someone like me, not when I'm like this." The nerves on the tips of her fingers tingled, like it was already protesting against being separated from Quinn this long. _A few hours apart and I'm pathetic_, Santana scoffed at herself, one finger toying with the single emerald stone on her wrist.

Brittany reached over and hugged her like a teddy bear, squeezing affectionately. She whispered, "Be good to yourself." The blonde frowned slightly as she worried for the girl in her arms, moments away from breaking down, and the girl's other half, a few miles and a conversation away from a heartbreak.

* * *

Emma Pillsbury hesitated to respond Santana's request. "Are you –" She saw the determined glint in Santana's dark eyes before she even asked the question; she asked anyway. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Santana nodded curtly and begged in her mind, _Please don't ask me again; I won't be able to say no. _

Ms. Pillsbury pursed her lips. Santana clearly didn't want to talk about it and her parents didn't protest to anything she ever set her mind on but… "You sure you won't regret this, Santana? There are a lot of things that you would miss out on. I'm just not sure you understand your decision."

The petite girl closed her eyes, trying to stand her ground but feeling resistance wash over her. _Of course, I understand it and I'll regret it_. She regretted it already but she knew it was the only way she could tear away, the only way she could save Quinn and Brittany. Understanding the situation didn't make it any easier. The ashes of her childhood left a burning stench, everything uncoupling before her. The words came in and out of her consciousness as Ms. Pillsbury began listing all the reasons Santana already grappled with in her mind:

"Glee club wouldn't be the same."

"Cheerios need you."

All Santana could do was steel her mind and repeat,_ It's not important, these things aren't important right now. I have to—_

"Brittany and Quinn." Santana's silent mantra halted abruptly when Ms. Pillsbury uttered the last two names, severing any attempt at calming herself. Her breath hitched at the two most important people in her life, one being a best friend and one being…. everything she ever needed. Brittany did need Santana; Quinn… well, Santana needed Quinn. It took a moment before Santana could compose herself and go back to convincing herself that this was the right thing to do.

The counselor watched curiously, trying to read what was happening under that hardened demeanor. Santana Lopez had always puzzled her, from her behavior to her intelligence to her voice. Between her determination and her brains, Santana had always seemed… older, mature with years she had yet to still live. But right now, she looked very familiar, like any other student that walked through her door: Santana was a broken girl. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

"If I wanted to talk about something, I would have brought it up by now, don't you think," Santana snapped, irritated that the woman had the audacity to make this harder than it already is. "I just wanted to make sure the paperwork gets done." Santana stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back loudly. I need to leave, I need to go. Her body and heart wanted to scream out, _NO, NO I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! PLEASE STOP ME!_ She turned to leave, a bewildered counselor utterly stunned behind her. Her hand was on the door knob when Santana paused, the enormity of the decision bearing heavily on her shoulders. Ms. Pillsbury wanted to ask her to sit back down, to talk to her. Clearly, something was stopping Santana from going through with this. But before Ms. Pillsbury could reach out to Santana, the brunette turned to face the counselor still at the desk, her voice a little softer (or just not as harsh). "Thank you."

As the door shut behind her with a note of finality, Santana knew the harder conversations lay ahead. She wondered what would kill her first: whatever Allele did to fuck up her heart or the natural heartbreak that was entirely a part of being alive and human._  
_

* * *

Hey, all!

How this chapter got so long, I have no idea. Hope it wasn't too long or draggy but I like the chance to describe what's going through Santana's head. I actually intended for the dancing in Costa Rica and the description of her nightmares to be outtakes but managed to put it together. I may, however, seriously consider small outtakes because there are some things that are integral to the characters but not necessarily to driving the story forward. Ah, who knows? So many plans for this, I honestly considered making an 8tracks playlist for this story, especially if you really did listen to the song I requested you to hear before reading this.

Also, considering changing the title of the story (you reminded me that I wanted to, Mello-83) because I really chose this title on a whim. So don't be surprised if the title changes next time you see this!

Thank you all for your absolutely lovely words. You brighten my day, awesome readers. Anyway, let me know what you think for this. Leave reviews and some love :)

Happy reading!


	21. I: Not the Fall but the Sudden Stop

**Chapter 21: Not the Fall but the Sudden Stop **

* * *

Quinn frowned, a small bead of sweat dripping down the side of her face. The heat of summer came earlier than usual, drenching sweat through the thin fabric of Quinn's shirt. While it was driving everyone else crazy, the heat wasn't responsible for Quinn's frown. In fact, it did nothing to her, not when the reason for her frown was sitting in front of her, not meeting her eyes and working hard to push her out.

_Why are you trying to hide from me_, she silently asked the still brunette in front of her. She could almost see Santana trying to push her out. Usually, Santana thought outloud and let Quinn hear what she was thinking, but Quinn felt Santana actively working to not let herself be open. Santana had been like that for a few days, at least, not telling Quinn anything when the blonde came to her house and found her missing. Not talking to her, often clenching and unclenching her hands in a nervous habit, like she was apprehensive about something.

Quinn tried to give Santana the space she clearly wants but…

The way Santana was lying, how her legs crossed on the couch, the light giving the caramel skin a golden sheen, almost giving off its own tempting shine. Her muscles flexed just a little as Santana drummed her bare feet lightly against cushion, a thinking expression beautifully knitted in her eyebrows. Full lips pursed. Delicate collarbones caught the light and pooled on her skin. There was nothing subtle about Santana's beauty; it was the effortlessness that made her stunning. Something about Santana, the way she moved, the way she smiled at Quinn, the flame that blazed in her spirit, made Quinn gravitate towards Santana without even being aware of it.

Right now, even though she was beautiful, she was also not here. Not in the moment with Quinn, lost in her own world. The way Santana looked at her…or more accurately, didn't look at her.

_This room is too small_, Santana thought, feeling Quinn's scrutinizing gaze raise a flush in her cheeks. The room was getting smaller, she was convinced. The high ceiling must be a misnomer because it was not high at all and the walls were definitely closer than they were before. Quinn made the world seem bigger, wider with possibilities but ever since her decision, any room they shared suffocated Santana. As the date slowly and steadily approached, she really felt the room bear down on her, threatening to cage her in with Quinn.

She had yet to talk to Quinn. Or Brittany, but Santana suspected Brittany knew what was happening anyway, picking up on what most people couldn't or didn't. Maybe Brittany knew how to read minds. Regardless, Santana couldn't do much to keep Brittany out of the loop.

Not that it was any easier to keep Quinn in the dark. Those green eyes shot straight through her. It took every ounce of Santana's energy to cover up her intentions, layer them under countless fake expressions. To carefully maneuver every conversation away from the dreaded topic of their future. _How can I do that to you? How do I walk away from someone who is as necessary as the air I breathe, as much a part of me as the veins in this imperfect body?_ Santana wondered if Allele Inc. injected some natural martyrdom into her blood stream, something that made her want to instinctively love the girl until it even hurt herself. Loving Quinn was so overwhelming that it overpowered every impulse, every reflex in her body. Even now, she had to clench and unclench her hands to keep herself from throwing herself onto Quinn. Every nerve in her body tingled, aching to touch her skin, her hair, press her lips to her forehead to ease the frown in Quinn's brow. That scent of jasmine and something so unique to Quinn's presence declared war on her resistance.

Santana closed her eyes for a second, trying to let her desire fade away but Quinn's trained gaze didn't do anything to help. In her gaze, she felt Quinn's bewilderment and something else. _What was—_

Lips pressed onto Santana's, making her eyes fly open with surprise. Quinn's eyes were closed, inches away from hers as she kissed the brunette; Santana wished they would open, look back into her eyes with a shade of emerald that never failed to captivate her, suck the breath from her lungs. She tasted something sweet, like spiced honey, on her lips, along with something that left a searing taste of Quinn and Quinn alone.

It was intoxicating.

When Quinn's eyes did finally open and meet an endless darkness in Santana's eyes, Quinn recognized the sad unwillingness on Santana's lips. _What are you so unwilling about?_ Questions bubbled up, only to get caught in her throat.

_Are you leaving?_

Every look made sense, every glance made sense. Every finger pressed into her skin radiated with something that didn't make sense to Quinn because she was never on the receiving end of Santana's stony silence. But having finally put a finger on what it was, there was an unwilling resistance mixed in with Santana's yearning and unwillingness, every shade of her emotion.

Santana felt Quinn press her lips tenderly, her salty tears falling onto Santana's face, making her wonder if Quinn felt every degree of unwillingness that she felt, every nuance of heavy dread that sat in Santana's gut. It was impossible to tell whose tears were whose.

Quinn drew back and gently laid her head on Santana's chest, slowly rising and falling with Santana's breath. Santana reached around to hold Quinn, letting her arms rest across Quinn's shoulder blades. It felt like they were in the eye of the storm, the pinpoint of calmness in a storm that was brewing around them.

Even when Santana shut her eyes, she only saw Quinn's sad gaze looking back at her and she tucked away Quinn's gaze, the one that asked nothing of Santana but made Santana want to give everything anyway.

* * *

_Bzz, bzz._

Brittany perked her ears at the sound.

_Bzz, bzz. _

Nope, yeah, that's definitely a phone vibrating. Brittany swung her backpack around as she climbed down the front steps of the school, excited to finally hang out now that school is done for the day.

_Bzz, bzz. _A picture of Santana's face, with a smear of pancake batter across her cheek from a late-night breakfast craving at a sleepover, greeted Brittany.

"Hello," Brittany trilled into the phone excitedly. "Where are you now? The lady statue with the light? The wire tower in France?" She never knew where Santana was calling from.

"_Nope and nope, even though it's on my bucket list to fly off of the Eiffel Tower,_" Santana's voice volleyed back, fake cheeriness thinly veiling whatever was lacing Santana's voice. Brittany couldn't put her finger on the tone that Santana was trying to hide. _"I'm actually at the water tower. Can you come here? Don't tell anyone, yeah?" _

Brittany nodded.

"_Sweetie, I can't tell if you're nodding over the phone." _The smile in Santana's voice was genuine. Brittany always forgot to answer her aloud.

_Oh yeah. _"Okay, I'm on my way."

* * *

Rachel loved the auditorium, everyone knew. No one knew just how much. Enough to come here, every day afterschool, even if it was just to appreciate the vastness of the room.

A deep inhale flooded Rachel with the scent of freshly-cleaned wood and the dusty seats. The silence in the auditorium was never eerie to her. In fact, it was beautiful, like the silence of a meadow or someone's happy place. When she opened her eyes, she could almost imagine the audience, the roar of applause echoing in her imagination. _Yep, this is my happy place,_ she nodded decisively.

Just a few more weeks and she would be at NYADA, the stepping stone onto Broadway.

_Broadway_.

The word alone made her smile. The blanket of awe that echoed in an auditorium, the moment of blindness when a spotlight shot straight onto her, the darkness that enveloped everyone in the audience, they were all just a bit closer. This auditorium, as lovely and comforting as it was, was nothing compared to the ones in New York, on the Broadway Stage. Rachel casted her eyes down at the smooth, oak wood panels that lined the floor underneath her ballet flats. Her feet paced back and forth, quiet clicking noises as her heel met the ground. _These floors will be familiar to me someday._

"Hey, hobbit," a voice softly floated out from the backstage.

Rachel jumped, startled at the unexpected presence. When she turned, Rachel found Quinn sitting on the grand piano near the back curtain. The blonde softly jumped off the piano, landing gracefully with bent knees. She shook her blonde hair as she straightened with all the elegance and poise of a ballerina.

With a turkey-avocado sandwich in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked, taking a step back as Quinn stepped forward into better light. The petite girl couldn't decide if she was more curious or scared of Quinn but the blonde smiled reassuringly and swept forward and sat on the edge of the stage. Her long, slender legs dangled off the edge. She looked at Rachel expectantly; Rachel was supposed to sit next to her.

"Afraid to share the stage?"

Rachel wanted to retort back at Quinn's question with some sarcastic bite but Quinn's smile told her that she was just teasing.

"We share the stage all the time," Rachel smiled and sat next to her. _She's not so bad_, she thought as she watched Quinn take another bite of her sandwich without a trace of malice. "You didn't answer my question."

"Coach Sue will kill me if she sees me eating an avocado, let alone a whole sandwich. Plus, I like this silence," Quinn waved vaguely at the space in front of her. "It's kind of like a private world, a happy place, you know?" Rachel was surprised to hear her own words come out of Quinn's mouth as the blonde mused over the familiarity of the serene silence as she chewed. It was calm and quiet, like after a thunderstorm. When she closed her eyes, the serenity of the moment washed over her mind. She let out absent-mindedly, "It's almost like Santana's house."

"You really like her, huh?" Rachel asked without thinking. Quinn snapped her eyes to Rachel, unsure of how to respond, how to gauge Rachel's response or even her own feelings. Rachel flinched at the suddenness of Quinn's movement; she didn't know what the blonde was thinking.

No one knew about her and Santana but it wasn't like they were being particularly subtle. That's what happened when you had that kind of love.

She and Santana didn't share _good_ love. Good love patted you on the back, made your lips perk into a smile from time to time, gave you a glass of water when you were thirsty. Good love walked beside you. No, this wasn't good love.

It was great _love_, in the barest essence of the word, neither good nor bad but infinite and omnipotent. _Great love_ casted you in the wind, made you burn and set your soul ablaze. _Great love_, like the one she felt, didn't kindly pat your head and merely patiently wait; it grabbed you by the hand and dove headfirst into your entirety, lighting the day and night with a certain sheen of brilliance. Great love sent ripples of joy from her heart to her fingertips. You walked with good love; _great love_ made you fly. Santana felt great love and gave great love to Quinn, an experience that would make Quinn fight against half-lives, broken promises, and inadequate love for the rest of her life. A taste of overwhelming, all-consuming love dulled everything else. It was tranquil and chaotic at the same time, igniting every inch of her life.

"I do," she quietly admitted. Santana seared her fingerprints on Quinn's soul. "I love her." _Whole-heartedly_.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow but the pieces made sense and fell into place in front of her. The way they looked at each other, the way that Santana sung that song to Quinn in Glee, the wanting in Santana's eyes, the utter flood of adoration in Quinn's eyes. Rachel smiled at the notion that she understood Quinn Fabray a little better. She, of all people with her two gay dads, would never judge. In fact, she wasn't even closed to the option of falling in love with a woman: "I think it's great to have someone you love like that."

Quinn smiled back, letting Rachel's words linger a little before switching topics. There wasn't really much that she could say after that, anyway. "So New York. Huh? We're gonna be pretty close to each other once we get outta Lima." The transition was smooth and welcomed by the petite brunette.

Rachel nodded and beamed, "You are always welcome to stay with me in New York, although I can't say a dorm will be the most comfortable place to stay." Being high maintenance demanded a full vanity, preferably in a Victorian taste. "But it is in the city and that alone is completely worth it."

The blonde laughed at the image of Rachel in a cramped dorm room, angelic notes of her genuine laughter reaching the corners of the auditorium. Rachel never heard it before. "I'm going to take you up on that. I'm not paying a hundred dollars for a night in the city."

Quinn pulled her phone from her pocket. "Damn," she muttered as she hit it against her palm, not that it would really do anything to wake up her dead phone. Still, it made her feel like it might spring a little life into her phone's dead battery. Having a dead phone made her feel a little naked and like she was wiped from the face of the Earth. Who would know where she was? Rachel watched her cautiously as the blonde let out a frustrated sigh before she casted her gaze at Rachel.

"Give me your phone." Quinn held out her hand, a lovely emerald bracelet with one red stone circling the blonde's slim wrist, capturing Rachel's attention for a moment.

Rachel hesitated. The moment was nice and fuzzy but still, this was Quinn, the very girl who slushied her, although that was two years ago, before Quinn joined Glee club. Even now, the blonde had a look of impatience that startled Rachel and convinced her she should _quickly_. Rachel pulled her phone from her pocket and placed it warily in Quinn's outstretched palm.

Quinn tapped on the screen speedily, the beeps of the button a second slower than her rapid fingers. She offered it back to Rachel, who looked at the phone inquiringly. She wanted to ask what Quinn did but was scared to ask.

The blonde, anticipating the unasked question as she always did with people she understood well (which was everyone, actually), answered, "I put in my number and texted myself. Now you will _have _to house me." Quinn scrunched her nose in a way that let Rachel know Quinn was half-joking.

Rachel replied genuinely, "Of course."

They sat together, looking out into vastness of the room and reveling in the silence that enveloped them both. It was hard to say how much time passed before the blonde stood up. Probably hours. Quinn gently brushed debris off the back of her legs.

Rachel smiled gently. "We're kind of friends, huh?"

Quinn winked at the girl still sitting below her and called out just as the warm night air outside the auditorium embraced her, "Kind of."

* * *

"What are you doing here when you can be at the Lady with the light in New York," a cheerful voice asked Santana as Brittany's equally cheerful face popped over the platform at the water tower.

Santana's lips pulled into a smile when her eyes landed on the quirk of Brittany's smile. The sun made her hair bright yellow, a different blonde from Quinn's golden hair but one that made her smile nonetheless. It reminded her of what Quinn and Santana used to call Brittany as she greeted the perky blonde, "Hey, Bumblebee."

Brittany scrunched her nose adorably at the sound, loving the way it sounded. She bounced over to where Santana sat. The sun was setting on Lima, Ohio, making it more beautiful than Santana had ever remembered. Maybe it was just all this sadness and unwillingness about her decision.

They sat together for a short while before Brittany finally asked, "So what's up, buttercup?"

Santana hesitated, "Well… I wanted to talk to you about something and I need you to listen carefully."

* * *

"Hey, Preggers!"

Coach Sylvester's harsh voice barked at Quinn's backside. Quinn whipped around, ready to retort something just as abrasive back at the woman marching towards her but stumbled on her words when she felt Coach Sue yank her arm towards her office and half-shouted, "We're going to talk."

The coach barely closed the door to her office when the blonde snarled at the woman, "What? It's late and I want to go home."

"Home, I'm sure," Coach drawled sarcastically before launching into a rapid rant. "I want to know how your 'home'," her hands made air quotes, "decided to quit head Cheerio. Do you seniors completely disregard the meaning of 'passing on the legacy'? I know winning Nationals is great, Tubbers, 'cause I've been there six times now but you seniors are reckless as drunk hippos, high off of Will Schuester's hair spray."

Quinn snapped, "What are you talking about?"

"If you didn't interrupt," Coach Sue retorted, "I would have told you."

Quinn crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she waited. Coach raised an eyebrow dangerously at the blatant display of annoyance before she continued a little slower, "Your girl, Santana, just quit Cheerios."

Quinn's heart plummeted as Coach continued without noticing, "You know, you two, as Head Cheerios, need to announce next years' Cheerio team and Head Cheerio but Satan decided to quit school early. She had it arranged with all her teachers, passed with flying colors even though the courses weren't even finished and Ms. _OCD-Ginger_ let her do it. She's not even walking at graduation. They're mailing her diploma to her and…" Quinn flew out the door before Coach Sue finished her sentence.

The exasperated woman shook her head and muttered, "Rude."

* * *

"So you're leaving?" Brittany's sad puppy eyes managed to jerk at Santana's heartstrings when Santana explained her decision.

"Not because I don't love you or Quinn," Santana choked a little as she said Quinn's name. "You guys are the reasons, the _only_ reasons, I would stay, if I could." She reached to brush a strand of loose blond hair from Brittany's forehead.

"I have to do this, though, Bee," Santana smiled sadly. "I already sent my acceptance letter and finished all my finals. You know me, the closet genius," she tried joke lightly, gently nudging Brittany's slumped shoulder with her own. "Honestly, this stuff with Allele, it's really dangerous and I'm not sure what I'm getting into yet. Please understand that's because I really care about you guys. You're my everything, my best friends, my family."

"It's not like we're not going to never see each other again," Santana poked a finger into Brittany's cheek, the same thing Brittany did only a few weeks ago to make Santana smile. "I promise I'm going to visit, wherever you are. And we'll talk all the time." Brittany perked up a little at the promise; Santana never broke her promises, not to Brittany and Quinn anyway.

"Can you—can you make sure she's okay," Santana asked cautiously, not even explaining who "she" was. Whatever this would do to Quinn, would be amplified for Santana. On top of heartbreak, there would be regret, self-imposed guilt, and most noticeably, a void that was roughly the size and shape of Quinn; there was only one person who could fill that vacuum. _This is the best for us both. _"Be angry with her for me, take care of her, talk to her. Make her smile. I love her," Santana choked, "So much, you know?"

Brittany nodded slowly. "I know, Tana, and I will." Her simple words reassured Santana. Brittany softly stroked Santana's arm and laid her head on Santana's shoulder. "And you'll still talk to me and visit?"

Santana squeezed Brittany's hands gently, "You're stuck with me for life, Bee."

* * *

"Damn it," the blonde exclaimed it as she tried turn on her dead phone. Quinn shoved the car charger into her phone and groaned with frustration when the screen replied that it was too dead to turn on yet. _It'll be at least 15 minutes before it turns on. _

The gears turned in her head as she tried to figure out what to do. In one swift decision, she hopped into her car and sped off to Santana's house.

_You don't have to go. Please don't go. I love you. In so many ways. _Quinn's brain stuttered with the idea of losing Santana as she tried to summon the words she wanted to say. The world witnessed a million ways in which one asked their lover, their best friend, their soulmate to stay and the best she could come up with was, _Please don't go. Stay with me. We'll make this work, whatever it is. _There was no eloquence, just pure pleading.

And it seemed that she was popular with all the red lights today.

* * *

"Santana!" Quinn pounded on the door, not caring who heard. The neighbors could think she's a robber or whatever but as long as Santana opened the door. "Santana! Open the door!"

Despite the absolute silence that met her demands, Quinn was relentless.

"Come on!"

Frustrated, Quinn twisted the doorknob, warmed from the afternoon sun. She didn't expect it to be unlocked and was startled when it swung sweepingly open.

_Light switch, light switch,_ Quinn struggled to find the damn light switch, her hands scaling the wall in the darkness, until…

_Click._

With one click of the light switch, she knew Santana was gone. The room lit up in front of her, momentarily blinding her with all the white. White sheets, white sheets, white sheets draped over everything, protecting all the spaces she shared with Santana from the dust that would settle in the years ahead. In a single moment, Santana's very real departure swept through Quinn, briefly paralyzing her. _I don't… Where…_ Nothing seemed clear anymore, a sudden absence in her life obscuring any sense of direction she had.

A quiet beep reached her; she turned to look out the front door, still wide-open. In fact, all the doors were open, from the front door to the car doors. _Doors are stupid_, she thought, letting random thoughts barge through her terrified mind. It did seem silly, she had to go through so many doors to find out what happened. So many doors to get to this place that she grew to love and find it… utterly empty of the only one who made her love it. The only one who made her feel like she could love and be loved.

_Beep. Right._ Quinn headed towards the familiar sound of a full recharge coming from her phone, buried somewhere in her jacket on the passenger seat. The steps she took felt surreal.

A small sigh escaped as Quinn turned on her phone.

Soft bells rung, the little envelope indicating she had a new voice message.

From a few hours ago.

"_Please enter your password," _the robotic voice on the other end of the phone squawked. Numb, Quinn managed to type in the right combination of numbers that didn't even make sense right now. "_The following message will be deleted. Your message from—" _

Quinn deleted it without even thinking. Voicemails frustrated her because she hung up right after hearing them, completely forgetting to delete it. It often resulted in a pile of skipped messages and some randomly saved for long periods of time until the voice mailbox reminded her. Frustration rose in her chest until the next set of monotone robotic words threw her breath out the window.

"_You have one unheard message. To listen to these messages, please press one. To listen to—"_ Quinn pushed the right button and pressed the phone hard into her ear, scared and hopeful as she anticipated the message and who it might be from. She was really waiting and hoping for only one voice.

And as if the universe wanted to grant her wishes and nightmares, Santana's low voice played through.

"_Quinn…"_ A moment of hesitation interrupted Santana's breath. Like she was unsure of how to start. _"When I started tearing up when we were watching RENT… I cried only because I felt you crying." _Pause. _"I think I was only half-alive before we had these last few months. I didn't know it but I was waiting for someone to come crash into me, to leave me breathless, to make me feel like I was living, not just surviving. And you showed me I wasn't falling; I was flying." _

Santana's sheer honesty tore through Quinn.

The voice on the other cracked slightly as the message continued, "_I felt like an open wound, everything I touched hurting every part of my body. Everyone seemed to know how to stay alive, like there was a introduction manual that I missed out on. But you came and saved me." _Santana's voice cracked with emotion. _"And I didn't know that this whole time, when I was aching, I was homesick for you, to know you and be known by you. Only you."_

Tears streamed down Quinn's face, her surroundings completely blurring around her.

"_I thought I would be holding your hand when I leave Lima, that—" _

Quinn snapped her phone, unable to handle the stream of words that steadily broke her heart. She crumbled, crouching as she hugged herself, trying to hold all the grief and loss she felt spilling from her eyes. It wasn't the fall but the sudden stop at the end, the rush of her world yanked from under her feet, that threw Quinn off-guard and shattered her heart into a hundred jagged pieces. The hand she was not holding made anguish flood into the cracks of her broken heart.

* * *

When a glass cup drops, it shatters loudly into tiny fragments. When paper rips, a harsh shredding sound fills the space. When mirrors break, chair legs break, clothes tear, the world makes a corresponding sound, almost as though it was demanding that people acknowledge the demise of something. But when a heart breaks, it is silent. You would think that a breaking heart would echo across the world and reach the ears of someone who could mend it, send some sort of signal out to universe to acknowledge the brokenness. But there is only deafening silence that gives all the room for the pain of a heartbreak to flood in.

And there were no bells, no trumpets, not even a beep that indicated that two hearts were breaking somewhere, miles away from each other but for the same reason.

**End of Part I**

* * *

Hey, all!

Updates may be coming slower for two reasons: 1) school is starting 2) I want to make these next parts perfect, especially after this chapter.

Have faith, dear reader. I'm not going to stop writing until this is finished, promise. There is a story to be told and like I said, stories are meant to have happy endings (in my world, at least).

We have yet to begin the real story :)


	22. II: Another Place and Time, Same Hearts

**Part II: Another Place and Time, Same Hearts**

* * *

**6:42 AM**

"_And it wasn't enough that my understudy is trying to officially become my shadow and utterly suffocating me with her presence but you had to leave me to live New York alone!"_ Rachel sounded livid from her end of the phone but Quinn knew it as her pining-for-Quinn voice. She often used it to beg in the morning for a strong espresso and toasted wheat bagel, especially when Quinn woke her up as the blonde shifted out of bed to start her day. It was the same voice she used to tease Quinn, teasingly pressing her lips on the soft creamy skin on the back of Quinn's shoulder as the blonde pulled on the clothes that was tossed haphazardly around the perimeter of the bed. Now, she was using it since it was her first morning without Quinn in the apartment.

"I'm sorry but I told you that you should have put a stop to that infatuation when it started," Quinn spoke into the phone, perched on her shoulder. "It's too bad you didn't just jump on the plane and move to California with me, you know. Sahara, California is such a gorgeous city, Rach."

Rachel groaned form the other end, _"Don't tempt me. This girl is almost enough to make me move continents."_

"And here I thought you would move because you missed me."

"_Oh yeah, that, too."_

The blonde switched shoulders as she looked around for her watch among the moving boxes. _Damn it, damn it._ _When did I accumulate so much shit? _Her new apartment, way more spacious than the studio she and Rachel shared in New York, had too many chances to lose her keys, her watch, her phone. They usually sat in a shallow glass bowl on short walnut table on the left side as she entered the door; this bright apartment, lined with tall windows to let in the California sun, still felt unfamiliar.

Quinn developed habits with familiarity, slowly building routines on how she moved around, where she placed her everyday belongings, the way she acquainted herself with the spaces in her home. That's what happens with sudden and drastic loss; knowing where everything is becomes a new source of comfort. It was a habit she couldn't shake off, not even in college or medical school. Katie, her suitemate in Yale during her first year, commented on her neurotic need to know where everything was once before but with time, simply accepted it as a quirk of the blonde's. That was the best thing about meeting new people: they assumed you were always the way you were. Katie only knew the Quinn that existed after heartbreak and lost love; had she met the Head Bitch, Cheerio Captain, Quinn Fabray pre-heartbreak, she would not have recognized her roommate.

"_Besides, it's not my fault that you were such an overachiever and the best clinics wanted you to move to the west coast, so far away from me!"_ Rachel's dramatic words made Quinn smile. _"You just couldn't stop yourself, could you?"_

The question was rhetorical but Quinn answered anyway, "I'm going to take your crankiness as a sign of missing me. You know, I'm sure that understudy of yours can warm your bed for you at night, instead."

"_I'm sure her performance in bed will prove to be inadequate as her flattery and performance onstage."_

"Agh, I can't find my watch, Rachel! I'm going to be late on my first day," Quinn muttered in a frustrated tone, her hands pushing boxes aside in search of a thin leather-strapped silver-faced watch.

"_It's probably under your bed."_

Quinn scoffed a little at Rachel's confident answer. Her disbelief in Rachel quickly dissipated when the burnished watch sat inches past the edge of her bed, just barely out of sight.

"How can you possibly know that?! You haven't even seen my place yet," the blonde exclaimed as her fingers fumbled with the clasp. A satisfying _click_ reached her ears as the strap felt securely wrapped around her wrist.

"_You always left it on your nightstand and I'm assuming your nightstand has yet to take its holy place beside the bed,_" Rachel sounded amused. _"So you probably just left it next to your bed and kicked it under when you woke up_."

Quinn was momentarily stunned. "You're creepily observant, you know that?"

"_This isn't just a pretty face, you know. It's got quite the brain inside, I'll have you know._"

For a moment, Quinn wished she were back in New York, taking a break with Rachel in between her shifts. In her first year of residency, the brunette eased her out of the mental strain of residency rotations and always managed to get her a cup of tea on the way over from rehearsals, although it was probably because Rachel ran on caffeine and no sleep most days of the week. Rachel waited so excitedly to hear about Quinn's first rotation, the hot tea spilled over and almost seared her hands. Rachel flailed her hands dramatically, making Quinn smile for the first time in days. And every day after that, the diva came by with a cup of tea for Quinn, a tall macchiato for herself, spending a few minutes to make the blonde laugh. _I could use some tea right now_, Quinn mused as she considered the small butterflies in her stomach from the nerves she had on that first day of residency. _This is sort of like that, a new job and city. Close enough._

"Okay, I have to go, Rach," Quinn glanced around the empty studio apartment, mentally checking off the things she needed. _Watch_. _Wallet. Keys. Phone. Purse. _The essentials were with her but even as she checked off her mental essentials checklist, Quinn still felt the tug of something missing, a feeling she never could quite shake off. Haven't been able to since— well, awhile.

A smile crept into Rachel's voice, completely dismissing its earlier pining tone: _"Go kick ass, like always."_

* * *

**7:05 AM **

"A large jasmine tea, please," Quinn pulled a five from her wallet and placed it in front of the cashier who looked like she needed the caffeine more than the blonde did. This wasn't Lima Bean back home but Buzzed was definitely going to be Quinn's new favorite café. _The next few hours is going to be rough_, Quinn couldn't help thinking as she pitied the harried cashier when she knew people like Rachel Berry would be demanding very specific orders. She dropped the change into the tip jar as the blonde made her way to the pick-up area.

As she stood by the counter, leaning against a shelf of espresso beans and coffee mugs, Quinn felt unnerved, like someone was staring intently at her. In the crowd of caffeine addicts, though, it was impossible to discern anyone's face. Still, it left her with an eerie feeling, like an omen.

She closed her eyes, the aroma of strong espresso almost enough to take her back to New York, the warm scent wafting from the kitchen. Coffee was never her thing but dear God, it smelled so good first thing in the morning. Quinn could smell it on Rachel's breath when Rachel would pounce on her in the early mornings, practically jolting Quinn awake. That's how Quinn knew that the girl had caffeine running in her veins.

In the early morning, Quinn would pull her on her clothes and coat as she headed out the door a few hours before Rachel would leave for rehearsals, leaving early enough to be just a few minutes ahead of her fellow interns for their morning rounds. Residency year one was one of the hardest, most physically and emotionally demanding experiences ever but Quinn was grateful for the distraction. The 12-hour shifts, the nerves from being around an attending and senior resident, the wide range of things she would see in one day at the clinic. Being accepted in the rigorous residency program at Columbia was a curse and a blessing, depending on the hour. It kept her mind off of—

Quinn stopped the thought before it blossomed and slowly counted backwards with her eyes shut.

Snippets of coffeehouse conversations floated around her.

_Medication is still being developed and won't– _

_The French food there was just phenomenal, really, I think I– _

–_have to run over to that new–_

–_from Ethiopia but roasted longer for this stronger taste that–_

–_Iris told us last week and it's just–_

But the scent of cinnamon that inevitably got to her from a chai latte being stirred somewhere evoked dim flashes of a girl she spent time with a lifetime ago.

Actually a decade, to be precise.

Two years of undergraduate in Yale.

Four years of medical school in UCLA.

Four years of residency at Columbia.

Ten years.

Two months.

Three days.

And a few hours, give or take a few minutes.

No wonder Rachel called her an overachiever. A rather large hole in her heart gave her the tendency to constantly be striving for more things to fill quiet gaps. The first few years after Lima were the worst, so Quinn did everything to cram every minute of her time. It resulted in graduating early and getting into med school way too early for her own good. She was the youngest in her class by two years at the very least. Her classmates always teased her that she could take medical exams before she could legally drink. Quinn smiled, remembering the crazy celebration they threw when she finally turned 21, legal to go out with her classmates for the first time.

And even then –

"Quinn!"

A steaming cup appeared like a gift form the universe on the counter. The warmth seeped from her hands into what most would call a rigid heart, warming it just for a moment.

"Neil!"

The barista continued to called out names.

"Lex!"

"Rachel!"

"Sarah!"

The steady stream of drinks woke Quinn from her daze, the crowd pushing their way to get their own caffeine fix. _Yep, this feels more like New York_, Quinn thought as she pushed her way out the door.

Quinn glanced around one last time, feeling like someone was watching her.

* * *

**8:14 AM**

Quinn looked out the window from fourteen stories up, complete with a stunning view of sunlit sparkles flickering on the ocean. She placed a hand on the cherry wood window frames, elegant and simple in their own way as it framed the clear view of the ocean.

For such a long time, a decade, two months, three days, and a few hours, in fact, Quinn felt like she was living under the ocean water. Everything in her life seemed distant and slow; there was a whole world just above the water line but she was drowning. In her heartbreak that dragged her down, Quinn flailed her arms frantically, grasping for whatever was available, her work, her studies, a friend or two, even Rachel. The memories removed her bones, leaving her in a collapsed heap on the floor, resorting to finding comfort in bags of gummy bears and her iPod instead of work, school, internships, whatever. But it was the same heartbreak that brought her to this clinic, to a job she would have dreamt about had she not been haunted by a beautiful face, still clear in her mind no matter how many years had passed. Sometimes, remembering was too hard. Most people dreamt about this job and she could see why.

The whole clinic was beautiful, actually. Oceanside Wellness Center was already well-established in the west coast, putting out some of the most innovative research and clinical studies while helping patients. It was a dream job. When Quinn got a preliminary phone call from them, she had to sit to stop herself from passing out with some mix of nerves and excitement. Being actually here thoroughly impressed her.

All fourteen floors of the towering clinic building shared the half-dome layout, offices along the perimeter of the curve, each with their own impressive view of the ocean. Dark cherry wood panels lined the floors, vibrantly green plants making a fresh presence. The overhead lights were bright but not harsh, obscured by a gentle tint. The office smelled fresh and clean, a waft of tea floating from somewhere. Sunlight streamed in to light the place with a pure, natural presence.

A kitchen was off to the side, barely noticeable, although no one could miss the welcoming aroma of coffee. A receptionist's desk was less than subtle, facing the entrance.

"We're so excited you could be here, Quinn," Tina greeted her warmly, pulling her into a hug. Tina was so excited to see Quinn's name on the list of candidates for the open position and was the first to talk to Quinn, actually. "I know, Sahara is a total change from New York but you'll love it, I promise! I mean, California weather is a pretty sweet deal."

Quinn laughed. "I already fell in love with that sunrise."

The two girls linked arms like close friends. They were, even though no alumni of WMHS would have believed it. Then again, they never would have believed the unusual relationship that Quinn and Rachel had. It made sense that Quinn and Tina were finally friends, considering how often Tina used to visit Rachel and crashed at her place. The first time Quinn stayed with them, Tina felt a little thrown off, unsure of how to behave around such a strong reminder of their tormented pasted. But Quinn was there more and more often and she eventually warmed up to Quinn, her presence more familiar to Tina, although Rachel had adapted quickly to Quinn's presence in her life. Growing up had changed them all. With time, it was easy to be around Quinn; Tina wondered if this was what it was like being a Cheerio friend to Quinn, someone included in her circle of friends. They stayed up late, catching up on the changes in their lives that took place since their lives in high school. Crinkly bags of caramel wafers emptied overnight. Breakfast was just whatever they could scavenge, tangerine peels and empty coffee cups scattered all over the apartment. Tina was in New York just three weeks ago for Quinn's twenty-seventh birthday.

Tina volunteered here in the pediatrics department, particularly in research. She was still finishing up her residency, her happy years with Mike giving her no reason to flood her life with distractions. Unlike Quinn, of course, who had many demons to drown out.

"Come on, I know Dr. Warner wanted to meet with you quickly to give you files so you can get familiar as you take over," Tina pulled her by their linked arms and led her down the curve of offices. "She was so impressed with you, you little _overachiever_." Tina bumped her hips with Quinn and didn't even notice the small grimace that Quinn expressed at the word.

Quinn recovered from the momentary lapse and smiled as Tina led her to the last door, what would technically be considered a corner office, two glass walls meeting in a corner. Tina gently squeezed her hand to ease Quinn's nerves. "She's just finishing up with a patient but you're going to do great. They saw your work already and trust me, you're a perfect fit here."

They paused in front of the door of a large corner office. "This is going to be your office, Quinn, as soon as Dr. Warner passes over her patients to you." Tina leaned in and brought her voice down, "You have the best view, too!" Tina giggled as she brought her finger to her lips. Quinn smiled nervously, very much aware of how real the situation was.

"Do you need anything while you're waiting? It won't be too long," Tina inquired kindly.

Quinn replied shakily, "Talk to me about anything. Just distract me."

Tina smiled at her, surprised by how flustered the blonde seemed. "Mike should be getting ready to teach the kids at Brittany's studio right now," she glanced down at her cell phone to check the time. "They spend so much time mapping out routines. I don't know how these kids do it. I tried to do one a few days ago and completely tripped over my feet. I saw some of the adult dancers for their crew and I swear, it's like gravity has no effect on these people."

Quinn laughed, mentally imagining the sight of Mike and Brittany's smooth steps around Tina's frantic feet. Tina took advantage of Quinn's ease and asked, "Have you seen Brittany yet?"

"Nope, but she's coming to grab me for lunch."

Tina beamed, "That's so sweet. Do you know where you—"

The door opened before Tina could finish her question and a sweet-faced woman stepped out, holding the door for a young man. "Alright, Edward. We'll see you soon?" The statement came out like a reassuring question, asking no obligations of the young man, presumably Edward, who nodded in reply anyway. Quinn felt reassured, just in the mere presence of this woman. Dr. Warner watched Edward as he headed to the elevator and waved when he glanced back.

"Dr. Warner, this is Quinn." Tina gently nudged Quinn forward.

"Dr. Fabray," the woman took Quinn's hand into her own and laughed at Quinn's eyes that widen just slightly at her greeting. "The title still unnerves you, doesn't it? It still catches me by surprise, sometime, too."

"Not to worry, Quinn," she continued, smiling warmly. "We don't insist on formalities. You can call me Sarah. Come in, come in. We should talk and you should see your new office, anyway. Thank you, Tina." Tina waved as she walked away.

As Quinn made into what would be her office soon, Quinn felt like she was right where she was supposed to be.

* * *

**12:44 PM**

"Anyway, that's how I ended up here, touring with the dance academy three times a year and working with the kids at the studio," Brittany explained excitedly, eager to share her life in a nutshell with Quinn. "But I'm so excited we're all so close. It feels right, like we're coming back together! Just like high school, huh?" Brittany gestured widely enough to make the tomatoes drop from her burger.

Brittany beamed, her bubbly personality warm and familiar to Quinn even though they hadn't stayed too close in touch. An email every few weeks wasn't enough to sustain a friendship, especially when Quinn cut every tie to Lima, Ohio. Everything felt like a reminder of – well, someone she tried hard to forget.

But looking at Brittany, Quinn felt how much she had changed since she left Lima. When she left, Quinn dove headfirst into her new life to forget her old one. She abandoned anything that reminded her of … _her_. Some days, the haze of heartbreak overwhelmed her, making it impossible for her to drag herself to class; other days, her heartbreak retreated to a sharp ache, faded but very much still there. Every breath reminded her that she was alive, and that it hurt. On the mornings she woke disoriented, Quinn found herself searching for another body in her bed; there was only the red comforter she slept with on her small twin-sized dorm bed. Disappointment weighed heavy like leadi n her bones. She avoided going into tourist-y places because postcards constantly reminded her of their small adventures. And God knows, she tried to avoid even looking at any water towers.

But Quinn could look at Brittany now without constantly losing her breath over someone she lost a long time ago, feeling only the dull ache pounding in the back of her mind. A testimony to how far she had come and how far she still had to go. Quinn couldn't help but be glad to have Brittany back in her life; with Rachel so far, Brittany made the transition a little easier.

"We are finally back together," Quinn smiled. "I love it. I love that you chose this. You always moved so beautifully and it's just so… amazing you get to share that every day." She swept her arm across Brittany, her words indicating everything about this situation.

"I'm so lucky," Brittany's eyes twinkled in the way that only dance and good friends could make her happy. "We're _all_ together again."

For the second time that day, Quinn felt the eerie sensation of something big looming overhead as she heard Brittany's words but only smiled back in response. Brittany squeezed Quinn's hands before letting them go.

* * *

**1:03 PM**

Brittany linked her arm through Quinn's as they walked back to the office, the sun warming their skins. The blonde still hadn't lost her enthusiasm for life, almost skipping as they walked. Quinn's laughter twinkled brightly at the site of her best friend practically jumping with joy. The enthusiasm was contagious and the sun, so bright and warm, helped give everything a dazzling veneer. The bustling downtown of Sahara buzzed around them, pedestrians and cars zooming. The feeling was almost like New York, if New York had weather like paradise.

They paused in front of the double glass doors of the towering clinic.

"Okay, I'll see you later for our run!" Brittany bubbled, drawing Quinn in for a hug. "I know this great route that practically no one knows about but it's along Sahara's coast. I can't wait to show you."

"Can't wait! Just call me when you're done," Quinn spoke into the mess of blonde hair in her face.

Quinn saw something flicker in Brittany's blue eyes as she pulled back, her lips pressed together like she used to when she wanted to say something. Quinn drew in her breath to ask when Brittany cut her off –

"I'm really glad you're here," Brittany smiled sweetly at the best friend she had missed for so long.

"Me, too."

* * *

**1:05 PM**

Quinn closed her eyes as she felt the elevator lift to head up the building floors. The momentary weightlessness brought her back to moments she spent so long trying to forget, the fleeting weightlessness of lifting upward. And all at once, aching feelings washed back, unwelcome and persistent as the waves washing the shore and hard-worked sand castles. These aches were what she acquainted with love.

And what was love, really? People seem to think it's all sweet and great, ecstasy and joy. From her experience, it was like that for only a few brief moments. Love is the battlefield, the constant state of anxiety, the struggle to move forward and still be grounded. It is sleepless nights and all-consuming, persistent thoughts and memories. Real love isn't all happy all the time; it is strands of ecstasy and agony woven so intricately, impossible to separate.

_Ding_.

Quinn sighed with relief as the elevator doors opened and the fresh clean scent of the clinic welcomed her.

_I could love this, too_, Quinn thought as she looked around. So many people loved their career and seemed fine. _I can settle for being fine_. No one ever demanded her to be extraordinary, or anything above ordinary.

Tina looked up as Quinn walked near her desk, to say hi and also, because running into Tina was inevitable on the route to her own office. "How was lunch with Brittany?"

"It was so good to see her again. I didn't realize how much she and Mike do now!"

Tina grinned proudly, "Yeah, they do really great work. Mike always asks me to come down to dance, too, even though I look like a retarded poodle when I try." Quinn chuckled, knowing she would be the same if she tried imitating Brittany. "Which reminds me! Brittany and some friends are coming over tomorrow for dinner. Can you come?"

The question sounded familiar in her ears. Tina used to always ask Quinn if she wanted to come with her and Rachel to restaurants, concerts, whatever, even though it was pretty much assumed she would be there. Even though they both knew Quinn would say yes, the girl never could shake off her commitment to her sweet manners. Tina blushed, knowing they both knew her habits to well.

Quinn turned around to wink at her, "Of course."

And ran smack into someone.

"Woah!"

A surprised face looked down at her. Quinn's hands flew up as she stepped back, like she expected him to attack her or something, even though his pleasant demeanor and casual smile said otherwise. His lab coat wrinkled a little where Quinn ran into him.

The man in front of her was stunningly handsome, she observed as she stepped back, no doubt. Smooth olive skin, a clean-shaven face. His hair was dark brown, almost dark enough to be mistaken for black, neatly combed back. The man used his two hands to smooth down his front white coat but smiled an easy grin at her to let her know that it didn't matter much to him. Underneath the coat, he wore a dark indigo sweater vest and black slacks, like a grown man. Quinn smirked, thinking of her last few friends in med school and residency who still wore jeans and t-shirts like children. He wasn't her type but she continued to scrutinize him to see if he was someone worth respecting. He seemed no more than three years older than her.

"And you?" The man had his hand stretched out in front of her.

Quinn's brows raised in surprise, as she realized he was actually talking to her.

"Huh?"

The man chuckled as he repeated his words, "I'm Xion, though you can call me X. And you are?"

Quinn chucked. "So you're good with Dr. X?"

He laughed, understanding her reference. "It rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn't it?" His easy smile soothed Quinn in a kind, brotherly way. "Underground lab? All the time to finding out about different human parts? Ah, I'd love to research about fascinating people all day." His voice hardened slightly, an ironic bite in his tone. Quinn didn't notice, preoccupied by the flash of a fascinating person across her mind. "But I'll have to say being chased down by people who want to poke and prod you all day really isn't my thing."

He looked back at her and smiled. "But not Dr. X, too sci-fi. Just X is good."

Dr. Warner – Sarah – appeared beside him. "You've met!" She smiled, pleased. "Fantastic. This is Dr. Xion Harris, our cardio-surgeon from Chicago. He has an impeccable record and his research is truly innovating," Dr. Warner turned to Quinn. "Truly, I think you would enjoy his work."

Quinn reached out to shake his hand; he smiled genuinely, his eyes crinkling with kind warmth, "We're pleased to have you here, Dr. Fabray. Your reputation precedes you. Sarah has told me so much about you, although I've already followed your work in adolescent psychology for awhile."

_Okay, I respect him. _The little bit of genuine compliment won her over; she was human, who could blame her?

"Thank you. I'm excited to be here, too. But please, call me Quinn."

Dr. Warner continued as she gestured to his large office behind them, "Xion shares the office space next to you. As you can imagine, all of our top doctors and researchers share this floor," she swept her arm across the row of offices behind her. "And Xion is your…. How do we put this? Xion is the cardio equivalent of you."

The door to his office swung open behind his back, abruptly interrupting the happy-fuzzy moment between colleagues. A woman stepped out from behind him, her gaze down as she searched the low messenger bag slung over her shoulder for something and completely unaware of the trio's conversation. "X, I'm going to the shoot so just pick me up after." She sighed with frustration. "Where are my keys," she muttered.

Xion turned to face the woman as he replied, casually, "Yeah, just don't forget your meds. I'm getting Iris first and then we'll swing by after. Neil's coming, too."

"Aha!" The woman pulled jingling keys happily from her bag, finally looking up and seeing the interaction she just interrupted. And the blonde in front of her.

Quinn didn't realize she was holding her breath until she had to let it go, the waves of feelings flooding from where they were dammed up. Her heart stopped, as well as almost every function of her body, as a wall of recognition smacked her. Hard.

She knew that voice. The husky voice sounded more mature but the tone, the pitch, each note of her words, she _knew_ that voice.

Quinn's gaze rose, from the woman's shapely legs, up her hips, her narrow waist, to find a stunning but familiar face looking back at her, gazing at her in the way that made her feel extraordinary, even with the slight touch of surprise in the woman's eyes.

The blonde watched the beautifully angled jaw of a ghost drop and sucked in her breath again, caught off-guard by the moment, the woman, everything. She was dreaming, a _very_ convincing dream. Any moment, Quinn would wake up to find herself still in New York, waking up in the studio apartment. There would be no Oceanside Wellness, no bustling downtown of Sahara.

Quinn blinked, waiting for the moment to pass until she would wake up, waiting for the haze to lift. The moment froze, stuck in the moment of a gaze.

But she didn't. The feeling of someone looking at her, really looking at her, straight into her, looking and knowing her all in a glance.

Santana Lopez walked out of X's office and straight back into Quinn's life.

* * *

Hey, all!

Long time no update, huh? It's been a work in progress.

So here we are, a decade later. Quinn at 27, living the life. We still had so much catching up to do; there's some Faberry for Faberry fans, in case you didn't catch that :) We'll find out more about this later.

And curious about Santana? Stay tuned! A lot of things that we're going to learn about now (:

Thanks for all the messages and reviews; they were so motivating and helpful in moving things along.

Leave some feedback, love, and reviews!


	23. II: The Other Broken Heart

**II: The Other Broken Heart**

* * *

**6:42 AM**

"And come into a forward fold, bending deeply from your waist," the soft soothing voice of her yoga instructor exhaled from above Santana. Santana stretched just barely half an inch further, her elbows almost grazing the floor, _almost_. Her hamstrings twinged and burned, her arms hanging limp from her shoulders. Sweat dripped down the curves of her arms, running along the contours of her muscles. Her dark hair flowed towards the ground as she struggled to reach a little further until a hand gently touched her lower back, where she was bent.

"And remember, this is supposed to be _soothing_," the voice spoke from above her, slowly moving away to other students. "Breathe into it. Let your exhales and inhales ease your stretch."

_Breathe into it, my ass, _Santana snarled inwardly. No matter how much stronger, smarter, faster Santana got, flexibility wasn't an Allele-given talent. But even the days she struggled with yoga, the days where she couldn't stretch like a rubber band, she welcomed those limitations, one of the few that she still had. It gave her something to strive for.

But to anyone who watched her, she moved gracefully, seamlessly through the ending poses. Her bones moved with all the fluidity of water, filling the empty spaces where she lost herself inside. No matter how hard she was on herself, it was hard to deny that she moved like any dancer, a feline precision in her limbs. Of course, at the end, she just plopped down without really caring how graceful and relaxed she should feel but didn't.

As Santana rolled up her mat, the redheaded instructor– she introduced herself as Emily on Santana's first day– sauntered over to her, her skin-tight clothes slightly wet with humidity of the room. Bikram yoga left the redhead's freckled skin slightly glistening while Santana soaked her clothes through the whole thing, just completely drenched in her own sweat. _How do you make even sweating look good? _Santana thought with something closer to resentment than with lust. She felt her own sweat dripping down the hardset line of her jaw, trickling down her neck.

"You need to relax into it more, you know," Emily bent at her knees to level their eyes as she spoke. Santana glanced up, startled by their proximity. Emily smiled flirtatiously at Santana, who didn't really even notice. Emily teased, "Come on, don't you just let go sometimes?"

Santana grimaced a smile. "Yeah, well, I don't like it when I can't do something." She stood up swiftly, just as Iris came back in to look for Santana.

"Hey," Iris called out. "You coming?"

Emily asked under her breath, "Your girlfriend?" She and Santana always came together.

Santana smirked at the jealousy written all over her freckled face. Iris' looks were enough to make anyone jealous. Iris looked like one of those mixes of people that made you wonder what she was but as soon as she flashed her dark eyes at you, you completely forgot what you were thinking. The half-Filipino, half-Spanish mixture gave her a feline look, a beautiful glare in her look. She could pull of that chic pixie look if she wanted but Iris always stuck to well-tailored outfits, mostly to command the respect at work. Santana could sometimes fit her clothes, often borrowing her blazers and shirts, because she was barely an inch taller than Santana. Santana made the mistake of calling her "exotic" once, which just earned her a really hard punch; "exotic" made her feel like a freak, a sore spot for all of them. You wouldn't think such a delicate-looking girl could really throw a punch but on their shared night watches over the cities, Santana quickly learned that whatever Allele put in Iris, it was a tad stronger than what they put in Santana. The last time Santana checked, Allele had experimented with self-repairing monofilament-sheathed muscles in both of them but Santana swore that Iris must have had some extra steroid boost or something.

Looking at the two beautiful, graceful figures was intimidating, with their serious eyes, their constantly-lowered voices, their elegant silhouettes leaned in towards each other. It gave the impression of that they were _very_close. Which they were, just not in that way.

Iris was the closest thing to a sister that Santana had, Allele being the messed-up, sick and twisted family background they shared.

"Just a good friend." She headed towards Iris, who reached out to link their arms as they walked away. She called back to the redheaded instructor behind her, who watched the beautiful Latina's backside walk away from her. "I'll see you next class."

Iris whispered to Santana, so quietly that only Santana could hear, "She likes you, you know. You should take her up on that date she asked you on." Iris bumped their hips, Santana cringing at her words. "If looks could kill, sweetie, I'd be dead. Did you see the daggers in her eyes?" Iris poked her slender fingers into Santana's sides as if to illustrate what daggers felt like.

Santana smirked, swatting Iris' prodding pokes. "Well, it's a good thing that it's practically impossible for us to die. We would be really pathetic if it took just a look to kill us." She swooned dramatically, "What would Allele say? They would be so disappointed in their babies."

Iris laughed loudly before she was interrupted by her own phone singing, _You think I'm pretty without any make-up on, you think I'm funny when I—_

The Latina groaned, "Please change your ringtone. It's blasphemous."

Iris smiled generously as she answered and ignored Santana's comment. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. She's coming right now. I have to head to the office so I'm good." Iris nodded, her A-line hair cut bobbing as she nodded, the clean line came to a point few inches under her chin brushing her cheeks.

"Okay, Neil's out front. He wants to grab coffee with you." Iris pushed the doors to the studio open, letting Santana out first as she put her phone away. A car honked at them; their eyes shot at the sound, narrowing with feral glares. When they recognized the car as Neil's, Iris sighed. "God, even after yoga, we're tense as fuck."

"Yeah, well, guess it just never goes away," Santana shrugged nonchalantly.

"And can you please try to get some sleep? I can see the bags under your eyes from here." Words meant to be teasing and biting were undercut by the concern in Iris' voice. Like a real older sister, Iris was always worried about how Santana seemed to overwork herself, with her job, with Allele, with protecting everyone. She would never admit it but under that steel armor of monofilament-sheathed muscles and blurry speed, regenerative qualities of a lizard, Santana had the caring heart of something like a tiger, both fierce and protective.

"Yeah, yeah," Santana waved off Iris' concern, making the feral glare return to Iris' black eyes. The brunette quickly hugged the still-concerned girl before looking towards the car, humming with its engine on.

She sneered irritably in the direction of the car, "Why does he insist on driving? We run faster than that thing."

"Be nice, Santana," Iris warned. "He just spend some time with you." She wiggled her fingers goodbye, "Ciao, baby. I'll see you later."

* * *

**7:05 AM**

Neil tossed his sunkissed blonde hair as the two stood in line for something with caffeine while the two schoolgirls behind them in line stared pretty obviously at the Californian stud. Neil was so carefree that he wasn't conceited, the air of radiant jauntiness. He had that messy blond bedhead with a golden tan shimmering over all his skin, his blue eyes piercing and sincere at the same time, giving the impression of a Greek God or something. The boy – even though he was only a year younger than Santana, she still considered him a boy – carried nothing on those broad shoulders he got from swimming. Part-time surfer, full-time marketing and advertising professional, Neil was so charming even from a distance that Santana felt almost sick from his charisma. It helped him in his work, at least, his natural allure appealing to his clients.

"Take a picture, why don't you," Santana snapped at the giggling girls behind him. "It lasts longer."

The giggling stopped abruptly, the two girls shocked from the venom in Santana's voice.

"Be nice, Santana," Neil repeated words that Iris had just said to her. He tossed a cheerful smile at the girls behind them. "She's an absolute beast when she doesn't have her tea," he joked cheerfully. Sort of. It was partially true. Santana always needed her morning tea, a leftover habit from when– well, a long time ago.

Santana whirled around to face the line in front of her, staring at the man in front of him. She frowned at the sound of fingers typing rapidly on his Blackberry. Businessmen always irritated Santana for some reason. Their arrogance, their disrespect for anyone besides themselves. She tapped her foot impatiently as Neil turned back to their conversation and continued, "I just think it's time that maybe we finish this, you know? I mean, they're basically done developing their reports. Iris already hacked into their systems and glanced at their drafts." A tone of unfamiliar weariness entered his voice.

Santana glanced at him before replying, "Your medication is still being developed and won't be ready. And you know we need it. _You_ need it." Santana sighed, paralleling his weariness. "Iris told us last week and it's just that we need to be a little more patient. I know, _trust_me, I know how hard it is to wait but it's not that much longer. Iris hacked into that researcher's system last week and is tracking their progress." Santana placed a reassuring hand on Neil's arm and smiled a little to ease. "Just a little more time, okay?"

"But the longer we wait, the more time they have to produce some monstrosity or kill someone," Neil protested in a quieter voice. "We were really lucky that some of them had hearts but come on, think about it. There's a reason why everyone that saved us now is six feet under, rotting away in some grave." Santana cringed a little, Lara's dying breath audible in her ears. It was true. The man who saved Neil was dead. The security guard that saved Iris was dead. The research assistant that saved Xion was dead. When Santana thought about it, she was grateful for the decision that she made ten years ago to save the person she loved from the fate of everyone who seemed to love them. It seemed Allele had a way of killing everyone who loved them.

Santana pursed her lips when something caught her eyes.

A flash of blond hair moved from the cashier, the woman in front of her dropping change into the tip jar and stabbing Santana's heart with the memory of a certain blonde. It was a little less painful now but it ached nonetheless to think of a certain blonde. A little less painful just meant it no longer felt like someone was having a fucking parade on her chest, just stomping around.

"What do you want?" Neil scanned the menu board. "I like their espresso, even though we really should just swing by Milan for it next time."

"You insisted on driving," Santana muttered, distracted by the blonde, whose face she couldn't see. "Just get me some tea."

"Ah, hey, Mindy," Neil flashed the poor cashier a smile, who smiled back at her regulars. "I'd like a galão for Neil and a large jasmine green tea for Lexi," Neil nodding in the direction of Santana. He grinned cheekily, knowing Santana wouldn't be satisfied with the drink even though Buzzed always has good tea. She was obsessed with some tea that she picked up over in India but orders a jasmine green tea when they force her to socialize with them. Coffee gave her headaches, she claimed.

"—anyway, my firm is going to probably win the account which will be amazing 'cause you know how much I love Nike and… you listening?" Neil looked at her questioningly.

Santana stared at the blonde waiting by the counter, knitting her eyebrows at the familiarity. _She looks so familiar…_but really, Santana couldn't be sure of it. All she could see was the back of the woman's head and it had been so long since they last stared into each others' eyes, the shade of emerald still haunting her dreams.

Ten years, two months, and three days, in fact. But hey, who's counting?

That was how long since she left but what kind of heart doesn't look back? She did, a few times. It was actually closer to seven years since she last saw _her_. The last time she saw _her_was at her white coat ceremony at UCLA. Santana was so proud of her and so devastated that she couldn't just walk over to the blonde and wrap her arms around her and never let go. Santana looked forward into her future and felt paralyzed. She felt options narrowing down, like she was falling down a huge black funny and the whole world were squeezing her into a tighter, smaller space. In her vision of the future, she saw no happy ending. Santana knew that she needed to let go of her, seeing all of the blonde's accomplishments before they unfolded. The sadness etched in the emerald-hazel eyes broke Santana but the brunette knew that one day, there would be less sadness. The next day, there would be less sadness. And every day after that would be easier for the blonde until the day that she wouldn't think of Santana at all. So Santana watched a man pull a white coat around the blonde's shoulders onstage, brought her hand to her own faltering heart and gave a silent goodbye. It was the last time she saw her blonde.

But here? Really? Of all the cities in the country? And of those cities, of all the cafés in the cities, why would Quinn be at Buzzed in Sahara, California? And this blonde girl that she couldn't see, the one facing the counter, drew Santana. She felt her skin, her muscles, the tissues lined in her arms and legs, her bones pulled towards the girl. Santana wanted to see her face and in that moment, the brunette had no room for any other thoughts or desires.

Neil shoved her shoulder, waking her from her flash of memory. "Hmm? What?" Santana forgot to snap irritably when Neil pushed her out of her reverie. Neil gave her his puppy eyes, the big blue eyes that transparently adored Santana, even when she was distracted. Santana couldn't help look at him and instead of the big hunky blond surfer dressed in his dark blue blazer that hugged his shoulders and black jeans that gathered at his ankles, she saw the closest thing to a baby brother. He had the boyish grin of a child, the carefree look that translated to his recklessness sometimes. Definitely not her type. Her type was blond but shorter, with emerald eyes, not blue. Her type had delicate collarbones, sharp shoulder blades, and was probably somewhere, curing cancer.

Santana turned back to Neil. "No, I was listening. Nike. You want the account and your firm wants it. I just—hold on."

Santana turned back towards the counter, her dark spiraling locks of hair spinning with her.

But the blonde was gone.

"What?" Neil inquired.

"I thought I saw someone I knew…" Santana's voice wandered.

Neil cleared his throat, waiting for the Latina to return to her fiery self. He knew her well enough to let her alone when she was reminded of a certain blonde. She had her heart broken once or something like that before, Neil knew. Iris and Xion knew the details but Neil always preferred not knowing about Santana's previous love life, not unless he was written permanently into her future one. He watched a familiar flame lit back up in her eyes before he continued, "So what are you up to today?"

"Mm… I'm going to do a quick sweep, just check out some things, you know the drill." Neil narrowed his eyes disapprovingly as Santana ignored his disapproval and continued. "Shower before going to see X."

Neil's frown disappeared into concern: "Your heart?"

Santana nodded, trying to wave his concern. "Don't worry about it. I just ran out of the medicine."

"Well, you _wouldn't _be such a concern if you would loosen up on your watch a little. You know, the world can take care of itself for a bit, too. It never stopped spinning just because we stopped watching over it." Neil frowned.

Santana punched his shoulder, "Which is why we need to wait for _your_medication to be finished! It's not like you're any less of a worry, you know." A concerned tone crept into her voice and fleeted away as she continued, "Anyway, after that, I have to go to the photoshoot for that new fall catalogue."

Neil groaned, "I can't believe you just get to work with Victoria Secret angels. I can snap pictures, let me do your job!"

"Horndog," Santana swatted him.

"Neil!" A steaming cup of espresso and steamed milk slid onto the counter.

"Lexi!" A large jasmine green tea appeared just beside Neil's drink. Santana quickly brought it into her hands, needing its warmth to comfort her. Hearing someone call her Lexi, even though she had been going by that name for a long time now, made her ache a little, no matter how many baristas called her by that name. It served as a reminder of what she lost, who she lost, and how many people would lose their Lexis, their loves if Allele didn't stop. Although, regular people did seem to have a tendency to try and kill each other even without Allele's help. Besides, for some reason, Santana didn't feel like she fit her name anymore; too much had changed. Besides for a tight group of people in her life, no one here really knew her as Santana Lopez, just Lexi Caro.

She inhaled that familiar hint of jasmine, remembering a long-ago happiness but quickly frowned. This was _too _familiar.

"Hey, Mindy?" Santana called to the barista. "Did you guys change teas or something? Or change something about this place?" Santana grazed her finger against the counter; something about this place was too much. There were lingering traces of someone else's scent in the air, someone Santana tried very hard to forget for a very long time. Her senses heightened a little more, anxiously anticipating the barista's reply. If they changed something, it would make sense why Santana sensed something different, something too familiar for her comfort. Like...like _she _was here, with Santana. The tips of her fingers tingled with anticipation.

"Nope, same as yesterday," Mindy threw out her answers as she tried rushing through the coffee orders. Santana frowned.

Neil tugged at her arm. "Come on, I'll drive you to the building."

* * *

**8:14 AM**

_God, it's so noisy_, Santana glowered at the mess of people from where she sat on the rooftop of one of the highest skyscrapers in Sahara. If you thought about it, humans were so prone to being hurt and hurting others. They were soft-fleshed bodies, often filled with rage, jealousy, ecstasy, glee. Santana felt compelled to try and save the ones she could.

Neil called this Santana's mountain, where she liked to observe from; they all had their own personal favorite ways of watching over the world. Neil, being a swimmer at heart, liked staying near the coast; his idea of keeping watch was to sprint around the coasts of the country, kind of like the way a sheep dog hovers around the edges of a pen. Iris liked to change up her routine, sometimes doing what Neil prefer, sticking with Santana on rooftops or following Xion's trend of scanning police radios. For Santana, being fifty stories up gave her a better perspective, a wider berth to observe what was happening below. Sahara was a busy city, bustling with life. But that also meant that Sahara had a ridiculously high crime rate. At least, it gave her something to do when she couldn't sleep like a normal human being.

Everyday, she was grateful for finding the three of them, though.

But Iris, a year older than her, found her first. Iris was a modest kid genius, decoding and coding the entire world around her. Santana never understood why she did it so much and once even asked about her attachment to codes, algorithms and patterns; she shrugged and replied, "I like knowing that things have meanings in everything, even if it's just random numbers." Iris was, as she phrased it, a "significance junkie; it explained her fixation on Santana's heartbreak and her firm belief in fate and destiny. Iris always said she was meant to find Santana at her most vulnerable because that's when she needed an older sister the most.

Iris, the brilliant math and science extraordinaire who could decode and pick up algorithms and patterns, found a way to transform pretty much any piece of computer into Big Brother's eyes, looking through the lens of computers to look back at the users. She used it to find Santana, at least, using the webcam on Santana's laptop to look through and at Santana. Apparently, Allele embedded a specific pattern in the shades of their eyes, almost like a color-coded trademark sign that emerged only when they were 18, Iris explained. Iris, with her enhanced analytical skills, searched for that pattern in the eyes of people staring into computers, using technology as the gateway to finding her lost brothers and sisters; she knew she couldn't be the only saved. Those small hazel marks emerged in Santana's dark eyes in second month away from Lima. Santana only noticed after Iris tried explaining it to her, recognizing the same shades of hazel hidden in the dark brown swirls in her eyes were a little brighter now, almost visible to the naked eye. Iris had the same shards of color in her dark eyes.

Of course, so did Xion and Neil but their blue eyes managed to hide it better, which made it harder for Iris and Santana to find them. Santana took a longer but more thorough route of searching. It was a tedious process that took a long time. She had to track down every employee in Allele, which was at least 400 people, follow them, observe their proximity to extraordinary people. None of them were subtle about their talents, really. Santana's tedious method of combing through lists of scientists and talents helped find them: Xion, at that point, was advancing quickly in his basketball career and Neil was winning swimming championships across the world.

Santana and Iris continued to find others; it turned out Allele didn't always have such a tight grip on their reigns. When the duo found another one, they placed them where their genetic makeup made best sense. Sometimes, it wasn't even their genetic make-up but the languages that Allele engineered into them that placed them; being placed in a country where the people at least speak the language, although picking up a language was fairly easy for any of them, provided some sort of comfort.

Every one that they found believed them almost immediately, having felt like an outsider or just different for too long. The way Allele managed to make every single one feel inherently differently lent an air of family over the network of extraordinary individuals. Now, they were across eighty-something countries across the globe, all determined to protect their respective regions and reporting twice a week to Santana and her three partners.

Santana stood up, her toes grazing the edge of the tower, so many stories up that the oxygen was actually thinner here. Sometimes, there were huge crimes; there wasn't a bank robbery everyday, mostly because it was a stupid idea. Sometimes, Santana went for the small ones, like now: a small mom-and-pops store was being robbed, three people held at gunpoint by four ex-felons. She could the cries of the couple, who owned the shop, the growls of the men urging their accomplices to hurry up. A chilly breeze swept across her body just as she dove off, a perfect swan dive into the concrete jungle in front of her.

Her body sped towards the ground with a soft _zzzzzzzt_, curving with all the intention of landing silently on her hands and feet like a cat. Santana would have flown but it had been awhile since she had been able to fly. Ten years, two months, and three days since she was last able to fly and Santana didn't quite believe in coincidences. As the cement rushed up to meet Santana, all she could think was how much she wished she could go back to when she could fly, ten years ago.

_Left, right, left, straight, left,_Santana mentally navigating herself towards the source of the chaos, the pulls of justice tugging at her body. Her body moved so swiftly that most people barely noticed the breeze she made as she sprinted by, accomplishing the distance in less than two seconds though it would take most cars more time to turn on the engine.

Santana, Neil, Iris and Xion kept their watch over this hemisphere, while their counterparts abroad felt compelled to protect their own countries. They worked closely with their counterparts in other countries, overseeing most of the operations and feeling protective of their brothers and sisters, especially since it turned out that the four of them were the strongest.

Their long lost brothers and sisters had a nickname for the quartet, the four that protected them from Allele and the rest of the world from its own demise. The quartet operated so closely with each other, almost like they could read each other's minds, everyone jokingly referred to them as a single entity, an acronym of their first initials: **SNIX**.

* * *

**12:04PM**

Santana let the hot water pull her long black hair down, making black rivers out of her hair across her shoulders and down her backside. The water, on full blast, rose steam, fogging up the glass panels of the shower stall. She stood under it, trying to literally wash away the thoughts of a blonde. Apparently, desires and regrets are more than skin-deep, etched into her bones.

Santana wrapped herself in a towel, letting the tendrils of water gather into puddles under her, before she slumped onto her bed. A trail of tears and water droplets followed her footsteps and soaked into her sheets.

Her headed pounded, her heart ached, her muscles felt worn and she knew she wasn't feeling like this because she was overworking herself, like Neil and Iris thought. When her appetite was gone like this, her body tired like this, her mind restless like this, Santana felt like she was going mad thanks to a long-ago heartbreak, probably a madness she deserved because she was the one who left but… _I had to. She would have never learned who she was apart from me and I, well… I would have held her back._

She sighed, her breath brushing the ceiling of her bedroom and closed her eyes. The girl shrank into her bed, reiterating for the millionth time all the reasons she left for. But that was the thing about love. Love is, perhaps, a madness. And like all forms of madness, it was painful to endure alone and the one person who could cure her of such madness was the one person she was trying to save.

Santana, for the second time that day, was grateful that Iris had found her when she did. _If she didn't, I'd be in a loveseat, eating brownies and crying_… which was what she did her first few months of college. The moment Iris first hugged her, Santana felt the intimate bond of _family_ for the first time. It was why she felt no shame or reservations when she cried, letting Iris rock her like a baby sister.

Since then, well, Santana tried to fill the vast emptiness with more and more things.

_Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt. _

Her phone buzzed in her hand as Xion's texts came in: "Lunch?"

She shot a reply: "Yeah, about to leave."

_Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt._

Brittany's text came in: "U no she-who-must-not-be-named? Kinda have to talk to you, didnt want to bring it up breakfast yesterday."

Santana felt dread pool at the pit of her stomach. It took a lot for Brittany to hold something from her because her friend was so straightforward with her. Her bubbly, caring best friend only did it when she felt it was imperative and Brittany didn't think most things were imperative. When she asked Brittany not to talk to her about she-who-must-not-be-named (cleverly named with respect to Brittany's reverence to the Harry Potter series) and not to talk to her about Santana, Brittany complied with sympathetic understanding. Between the blonde at Buzzed this morning and Brittany's text randomly address she-who-must-not-be-named, Santana felt the eerie sense of destiny toying with her fate.

* * *

**12:44PM**

Xion leaned into his chair, chewing slowly as he mulled over how silent his baby sister was today. Santana, deep in her own thoughts, chewed with no real desire to eat.

"Okay, what's up with you?" Xion cut into her thoughts.

Santana glanced up, somewhat surprised to see him there, like she forgot where she was. She hesitated and shrugged noncommittally, "Just seeing ghosts, lately."

Xion knitted his brows in concern but let the moment go. He wasn't one to push Santana; Iris was best at putting Santana to ease. She got into these near-catatonic states sometimes but Iris never elaborated why, just something vaguely about heartbreak and first loves. Who was he to pry and open old wounds? He was lucky enough to snag his first love, and she happened to be one of the few people who understood what it was like to be him. He smiled involuntarily as he thought of Iris.

"So you have your shoot today?"

Santana nodded, "Shouldn't be too long. I figure we're going to wrap in four-five hours, given that the models are already prepped by the time I get there." Their warm and fuzzy moment passed and eased into a casual conversation.

He grinned boyishly, "I bet Neil was so jealous when he heard."

Santana crinkled her nose as she recollected his expression, "More like seething! You should have seen his face, so priceless."

"But we're going to still have our meeting tonight with the rest of the team?" Every couple of days, the four of them managed meetings with the rest of their network via video chat. Santana didn't really have to enforce it because, although no Allele-produced individual would admit it, they wanted to see each other's faces as often as possible; they all spent enough time feeling alone and lonely.

"Yup," Santana clipped. "Iris is going to set up the network again tonight so I figured the four of us could grab some dinner, maybe do a sweep before the meeting."

Xion chuckled, "We should really be grateful Iris actually _likes_ doing that stuff." It was true. They were all successful in their own way but Iris made her interests into her job and her job into her hobby. She owned Irides, Inc., implementing technical operations from security systems to setting up global networks. It was amazing what she could do with a screwdriver and a motherboard. Iris was, without a doubt, invaluable as she created secure networks for their meetings. Somehow, she managed that entire company, saving the world on a nightly basis, and keep the fire alive in her and Xion's relationship.

"Don't forget to credit yourself, sir," Santana grinned cheekily. "I _literally_ can't live without your hobby." She looked pointedly at small pill bottle on the desk. Xion, a leading researcher of cardiomyopathy and a renowned surgeon, replicated the effects of the original antidote that Lara had given her so long ago. He not only managed to produce the same medication but made it a little bit more manageable by making pills out of it, so that Santana didn't have to stab herself with a syringe everyday. Xion helped all of them, actually; Allele seemed to have made more than one mistake. Neil, for example, had a completely different issue of degenerative tissues; coupled with his regenerating body, Neil's body reacted in a jerky, unpredictable way. There were days when Neil was more than frustrated by his limitations.

Xion shrugged his shoulders modestly, "When Allele produces its final fixes and we can nab it from them, we'll finally be able to get rid of them. Two birds, one stone." He winked.

Santana smirked, "And we won't need you anymore."

He mocked anger and hurt, "How could you?! And here, I thought we were family."

The petite woman got up and swept a peck on his cheek with all the sweetness of a younger sister. She hugged his neck, "We could never get rid of you."

"Okay, okay," Xion grumbled. "Anyway, you have to go soon, no? I'm going to check what my afternoon looks like." Xion squeezed Santana back before he stood up to tower over her.

"Yeah," she sighed, gathering up her things. "You got the trash?"

Xion nodded, "I'll clean up after you go. Let me go check that schedule." He led the way out the door when Santana snapped her fingers.

"Hold on, let me check I have my keys for that camera safe." She rummaged through the messenger bag of camera lenses and portfolios. "Damn it, go check your schedule. I'll be right out." Xion walked out, the door swinging silently shut behind him.

She muttered, "I swear I had it." Santana got onto her knees, tugging at the blazer she borrowed from Iris as she crouched to see if they were somewhere under the sofa. Allele managed to make her regenerate but couldn't keep her from losing her keys. She scoffed.

It wasn't between the sofa cushions.

Or under the seat.

Santana _knew_ she brought it. She groaned as she flopped back onto the seat, trying to trace back her steps. _There weren't that many places I went to…_

She threw up her hands in frustration as she stood up. Her hair whipped around her as Santana headed to the doors. _I know it's here. I know it._ She fixed her gaze in the messenger bag, convinced that the keys to her locker with all the different cameras she needed for the shoot were inside. _Ugh, like thousands of dollars of equipment. I guess I could always break the lock open_.

Santana hated doing it but hey, if that was the only thing she could still do, she would.

She frowned as she walked out of his office. Xion's towering figure stood just beyond the door. Santana spoke into her bag, completely unaware of the conversation she just interrupted: "X, I'm going to the shoot so just pick me up after."

Xion turned to reply, "Yeah, just don't forget your meds." She patted her pocket to let him know they were in her pocket as he continued, "I'm getting Iris first and then we'll swing by after. Neil's coming, too."

Santana smirked at his last words, even in the midst of her frustrating search for her keys. _Bet he's coming for reasons dressed in lingerie_. Neil was a fan of models, to say the least.

A quiet jingle reached her ears. They _were _in there! Santana pushed around the contents, trying to pin down the source of that jingle. Her finger grazed a cool metal ring and hooked into it as she yanked it out.

"Aha!" Santana exclaimed with glee, looking up to grin at her older brother…

…when her eyes landed on the last person she thought she would see.

Santana felt the moment freeze. Her heart palpitated dangerously, leaving her dizzy and sucking in her breath. It had to be a hallucination because that glowing shade of blonde existed only in her memories of someone long time ago. A matured radiance around the figure, her skin so smooth and creamy that it looked like milk, the cascade of blonde, the touch of pink in her lips, the graze of rose on her cheeks.

Santana stared, willing the illusion in front of her to stay and unable to do anything else. _She almost looks real…_ Santana thought, still unconvinced.

Xion and Dr. Warner– she told Santana to call her Sarah all the time but she still forgot sometimes– watched the two figures stare, confused but unwilling to interrupt their trance.

Santana felt her jaw drop slightly as she realized that she _wasn't_ hallucinating. If anything, this moment was the most alive she felt in a decade, seeing an enchanting shade of emerald staring back at her, piercing through her entirety.

There was a quiet hiss as the blonde figure in front of her sucked in her breath; Santana felt the pull to move along with that breath, the urge to move closer to her, towards her.

The sound of the figure's soft breath confirmed her presence. Standing in front of _her_ was like being in a dream, Santana flailing to find her way out of a dream that wasn't really a dream. But the world seemed hazy with her disbelief.

_This isn't happening._

_This isn't happening._

_This isn't happening._

It was difficult to even pick apart the torrent of feelings hurling at Santana. And no matter how many times Santana said it to herself, the reality of the situation proved stronger than her words: Santana had walked out of X's office and straight into the life of Quinn Fabray.

* * *

_Hey, guys,_

_I figured I'll just post this up since I finished it and can't read it anymore times. Some things just for your reference:_

_1. Sahara, California is a fictional metropolis. Your modern-day, sunny, oceanside Gotham :)_

_2. Destiny is at play! Some of you guys pinged me and asked so just to clarify in case the actual text is confusing: Xion, Iris, and Neil are other individuals saved from Allele. Xion is with Iris (fear not! Santana isn't dating him. Haha I loved that this was a legitimate concern)._

_3. This is a really long update (for me, at least). It's really hard to put all reasons and explanations all at once. So piece by piece, everything will unfold, I promise._

_4. This isn't really relevant but in case it isn't clear, I love writing for you guys :) I really appreciate your guys' support. Whew, I get so anxious whenever I post something up! Haha _

_**Anyway leave some love, thoughts, & reviews/PMs - happy reading!**_


	24. II: Forgetting to Remember to Forget

**II: Forgetting to Remember to Forget**

* * *

The air hung uncomfortably in the air. Xion and Dr. Warner shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the moment prickling their skin.

Xion cleared his throat as he glanced at Quinn. _What is their deal?_"Uh, Lexi, don't you have to get going?"

_I… she… the…_Santana's thoughts stuttered uncontrollably, trying to process what was happening, her body doing what it can to compensate with the unexpected stress. Her arms and legs felt numb, her heart palpating dangerously, her vision flashing with grey blind spots as blood drained. Whatever relaxation that yoga had given Santana that day was ripped out mercilessly with one glance at Quinn. Santana, with all the sensation lost in her limbs, staggered a step unconsciously towards Quinn, who stood frozen in her shock and disbelief. The shock and disbelief were just a dam that held the flood of emotions building up inside of the blonde.

"Woah-ho-ho," Xion coughed out as he stretched out his arms to catch Santana in her stagger and she landed heavily in his arms. Her keys crunched against the ground as Santana's hands loosened and dropped her keys, her gaze fixed on the blonde in front of her. Xion's towering figure made Santana look smaller and more fragile in his arms, like anything and everything could crush her. His eyes shifted between Quinn and Santana, trying to gauge the effect this blonde seemed to have on his baby sister and protectively drawing her in. "Let's, uh, let's get you downstairs."

Quinn's emerald eyes followed the pair as Xion warily picked up the keys and half-carried the girl who kept glancing back, as if unsure of what just happened. She was torn between running after her and smacking the shit out of her and… running after her and pulling Santana into her arms.

Dr. Warner took their departure as a cue and cleared her throat to get Quinn's attention. "So, Quinn, how about we head into your office, finish the paperwork for human resources, send you off for the day with the case files? You can get acquainted with some of your patients tonight and Sahara."

Quinn turned slowly towards her voice, struggling to focus on her words and keep her professionalism. She nodded and Dr. Warner smiled warmly as she led the way.

* * *

Some days, it felt like the sun rose with the sole purpose of glaring at her harshly and disheartening Santana. Today was one of those days.

Yet, Santana weighed the heavy camera in her hands, feeling the cool bumps and ridges of metal along her fingertips. It was surprising that she ended up with this photography career, especially considering how practical her other degrees were. At the University of California, Berkeley, Santana quickly rose as one of the smartest students, even in the competitive undergraduate business school, Haas School of Business. You wouldn't have thought she was anything but pretty looks, looking at her. She never bragged, she didn't party much. Her post-heartbreak distress rendered her almost invisible.

But that was the thing about being invisible, though: she learned to look, really look, at everything and everyone around her. With her "talents" (as Iris liked to call them) maturing, she could recognize and appreciate a quality of beauty that most people missed. Santana's talents could be transformed into producing creative material, finding details that most people missed until they saw it in her photographs. Her marketing and economics majors coupled with her eye for beauty molded her perfectly for creative production in the advertising industries. Once in awhile, she held art exhibits, along with some of her artist friends, but that was seasonal, mostly reserved for the fall when that season kicked off. She was contacted throughout the year for portraits but Santana only had work to sell when she came back from a retreat that she dedicated to just photography. There was only one year-round exhibit that displayed her work but that's because she was a regular at the Mosaic Wine Bar. It probably also helped that Johnny, the wine sommelier and wine bartender, couldn't stop pouring compliments on her. Other than Mosaic, it was too draining to have her work on display; it was like putting her heart and soul in frames and letting the world judge it freely.

But still, she liked photography for reasons besides the fact that she was practically manufactured for a creative production in advertising. Looking through the viewfinder gave her a reason to scrutinize without making the subjects uncomfortable. And for once, no one was staring back at her. Behind her camera, she felt safe and protected from ever being subjected to microscopes and scalpels. She wasn't invisible but she wasn't the centerpiece. No one wanted to cut her apart, break her bones, crack her skull just for the sake of seeing what made her tick inside. They would have only found some abnormal genes and a broken heart and probably would lock her away.

The camera clicked securely into tripod, facing a stunning woman on the other side. Santana looked through the viewfinder to find the best angle, lighting, placement while the model stood there without a speck of shyness, considering she had so little clothes on that she might as well have been naked. Santana settled into a different kind of person when she photographed.

Behind the safety of the camera lens, Santana became a woman without skin. For beautiful photography, she had to strip herself of her walls, barriers, and defenses and look deeply into the subject's entirety, from the silhouette of the woman to the traces of emotions in her eyes to the stories written in her skin. She had to be vulnerable to the battles in their eyes, their face, their expression. It was this skinlessness that made her an artist.

And she possessed another gift that complemented her vulnerability to feel and see everything so fully: eyes that recognized the moment, the fleeting second, that captured a person's story in one frame. It helped that her reflexes were fast to capture it.

"Okay, hold on, hold on," Santana pulled away from the camera with a dangerous level of irritation in her voice, channeling her anxiety about Quinn's presence, who was probably wandering only a few miles from her, and pointed to the strobe units. "I need these lights to be brighter; I can't capture anything with this murkiness."

As her crew frantically scurried around to adjust the lighting in the room, Santana slowly turned, pursing her lips as she considered the environment as a part of the set. The barren warehouse they were using for the shoot was large enough. The cracked brick walls climbed high to meet a metal sheet of a ceiling. The breeze outside produced the quietest hum. _This isn't it…._She thought, completely unsatisfied with the artificial lighting when the idea struck her fast and hard, suddenly enough to push the blonde out of her mind.

"Guys," she clapped her hands to get the attention of the crew. "I need you to remove all the stands, clear the windows." She swept her arm across the vast high-ceiling windows, obscured by the black bags that they used to carry the equipment. "Move the reflective umbrellas there," she pointed to the edges of the windows."

Catching onto her vision, the crew members cleared the space and shifted the props and light stands over to the windows.

Santana nodded approvingly before turning her attention to the model, who looked a little cold in her bare lingerie. "Inés, can you stand right there?" She walked over to a space just in front of the windows, where the lines of the frame met. Santana gracefully placed a hand on the windowsill, taking in the new props she was about to use. The model walked over to where Santana was standing.

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the model in the new light and moved her an inch and half a little closer to the window. Inés blushed at the warm touch of Santana's hands on her shoulders but Santana didn't even notice the model, really. It was the entirety of the frame that mattered. She took a few steps back, eyes darting to gauge how this would turn out. _Perfect_, Santana thought. "Okay, guys, let's do this."

Somebody turned on the music, the bass pounding loudly and loosening up the room. The raspy voice of the lead rock singer made the model smile, giving Santana plenty of opportunities to capture it on film.

The setting sun streamed in from behind the model, bathing her body in warm light. If the lighting had been even a shade lighter or a shade darker, it would have obscured the model into a blacked out silhouette. But in this warm sunset light, the contours of her toned figure were pronounced. The bare warehouse backdrop lent a grungy and graphic effect. Her crew stood around in awe of the effect that Santana picked out.

Feeling their reverence on her backside, Santana smiled as the camera shutter clicked rapidly. She knew her vision was being transferred into snapshots on the computer screens behind her, where her crew was watching the production. Each shot was gorgeous, capturing the warm, seductive light of a sunset in the beautiful body of the model. It lit up her hair with a certain fieriness, fine strands glowing. The shots had a light airy quality produced by the natural lighting, changing the ambiance of the whole shoot, right down to the smile on her model's face. The effect was striking on screen.

Knowing she was producing good work was almost enough to forget what had just happened. But in the eternity that existed between shutter clicks, model wardrobe changes, and prop adjustments, in the midst of her skinlessness that made her vulnerable and brilliant as a photographer, Santana could only think of one person.

* * *

"Quinnie, wait!" Brittany struggled to keep up with Quinn, who started out their evening run so quickly and furiously that Brittany didn't even realized she left. Her feet barely met the ground before she picked up her feet, one step following another like rapid fire.

And despite Brittany's plea, Quinn didn't slow down. She didn't even hear her words; the blood pounding in her ears drowned out all the sounds. She was furious. Furious with Santana, for leaving at all. Furious with Brittany for not telling her where Santana was, even when she asked. Furious with herself for leaving the safety of New York and moving across the country to Sahara. Furious with the universe for screwing around with her happiness, just as she was piecing the broken shards of her life together.

The sandy trail made running harder, making every lift of her leg heavy but Quinn welcomed the burn in her thighs. It seared away at her anger.

Each time her foot met the ground, all she heard was bits and pieces of the voicemail that haunted her for so long.

_"Q, I think I was only half-alive before we had these last few months…"_

_"You showed me I wasn't falling…"_

_"I was flying…"_

Quinn sped up, trying to outrun the very voicemail that played in her like a broken, fragmented record. For so many months after, Quinn had to listen to the voicemail once or even twice a day. Most of the time, she couldn't even listen to it all at once; it felt like she was actually breaking.

_"This is the best thing I can do for you, Q."_

_"Maybe not today. Maybe not for a long time. Maybe never."_

No matter how far she ran or how fast, the words harassed the backsides of her heels, threatening to grip her by the ankles, trip her forward and make her crash.

_"But from wherever I am, I'm loving you."_

_"Maybe someday_."

Someday. "_Someday_." Santana's hopefulness fit into that single word. That word floated into Quinn's ears and her life, where it stuck for the years that followed. That was the thing about first loves; it stuck with you.

And right now, Quinn was furious that first love couldn't be the last love. That Santana made this decision without even telling her, no warnings. Rage threatened to consume her. _Fuck you, universe. Fuck you, Santana, you and your fucking martyrdom. Fuck you and—_

"Quinn!" Brittany yanked her arm the second she finally caught up to the angry girl. "Stop running so—oh my god." She caught sight of Quinn's beautiful face marred by her pent-up fury and angry tears streaming down her cheeks. Quinn tried to jerk her arm from Brittany's grip but only made her friend hold onto her tighter.

"You knew!" Quinn snarled, the venom in her voice catching Brittany by surprise. She jerked her arm back and forth, trying to yank herself free from Brittany's clutch. "You knew she was here and you never told me!"

The expression on her face said the ruthless bitch that made head cheerleader in high school resurrected. Only this time, she wasn't built on ambition and popularity but bottled-up resentment and fury. One look from Quinn and Brittany knew all at once what she was talking about. Only one person managed to evoke this kind of intensity from Quinn, who was otherwise composed and collected.

But in this moment, she was lost in her rage, continued spitting out her words.

"You knew how it killed me, the way she left!"

"You knew how much I cried!"

"You knew where she went!"

"And all these years!"

"And you _knew _she was here!"

Each accusation punctured Brittany's heart painfully but the last one came out so desperately and brokenly that Brittany almost cried for her friend. Brittany, with her hand still on Quinn's arm, pulled her into a tight hug.

Quinn, in all her misdirected anger, struggled against the embrace, trying to push her away with the hands curled into fists on Brittany's chest. Brittany's strong arms wrapped tightly, gripping the furious girl. Her rage exploded and then toppled over, simmering down to sobs, her body shaking against Brittany's body.

Brittany rubbed her back with her warm palms, tenderly crooning for the broken person crying in her arms. "Shh, shh, shh." She gently combed her fingers through Quinn's hair, trying to calm her. "I know, I know," Brittany softly murmured.

"She just _left_ me, Brittany," Quinn cried against Brittany's collarbones, her tears mixing into Brittany's sweat from their sprint. _It's so unfair._

"I know but she had her reasons," Brittany murmured against her head. "It's not enough of an explanation, I know, but she did."

The orange rays of the setting sun casted its glow on Quinn clutching onto Brittany with all the desperation of someone drowning and holding onto a liferaft.

Quinn's voice cracked as she uttered the one thought that haunted her all these years, no matter how far she moved or how long it had been, and one that Brittany couldn't, or wouldn't, answer: "Why?"

* * *

"I've never seen anyone so nervous in front of me!" Iris exclaimed, half-laughing, half-exasperated. The candelight glowed warmly from the middle of the table, casting shadows and orange glows from where it sat."I swear, the man was struggling to put the cable in the USB port and I felt so bad. His hands were trembling so hard that he kept dropping it!"

Xion bellowed with laughter as Iris waved her hands while she tried to explain about the new hire at her company who panicked in front of her all the time; being around the CEO did that. Neil doubled over, spilling a little bit of the wine from the wineglass in his hand. Xion reached over to grab Iris' hand as he shook with laughter. Iris squeezed his hand at the site of her brothers but let the smile fade away quickly when she glanced at her sister.

Santana smiled noncommittally, listlessly pushing around the food on her plate.

Iris noticed Santana's distracted behavior but tried to pass dinner as normally as possible, even if it meant she had to embellish some stories about new colleagues. Trattoria Lincontro was one of their favorite Sahara restaurants. Something about the dim, candle-lit room that smelled like freshly baked bread, the lingering aroma of bittersweet espresso, the faint hint of rosemary and garlic, the sizzling of food that reached their ears made the restaurant seem cozy. This restaurant directly imported their wine, too, the sweet taste of grape sinking into their highly sensitive taste buds. It was their go-to Italian if they weren't the mood to make the trip to Italy. Santana was usually the first to suggest a place for dinner but tonight, she sat quietly while Neil and Xion fought over Italian or sushi. Iris, in an attempt to make Santana a smidgen closer to being a human with emotions like excitement, suggested her baby sister's favorite Italian restaurant. Neil grumbled about being ganged up on but quickly shut up about it when his chicken saltimbocca arrived.

Tonight, the fiery, sassy and opinionated Latina reeled inward, not really tasting her food. Santana only stared at the white table cloth, unable to appreciate the environment, food, and company because she was wholly consumed by the murkiness of feelings she couldn't quite figure out. A specific shade of blond, a particular gaze of emerald eyes, the shock painted on an exquisite face, these images lingered in her thoughts.

* * *

"We're going to walk," Iris announced, beaming brightly, and moved towards Santana to indicate who "we" meant as Xion paid the valet. Neil raised his eyebrows and glanced at his watch; they had their network meeting in an hour.

"Oh, _God_, Neil, we of all people are not going to be late," Iris rolled her eyes when she got Neil's hint as she linked her arms to Santana, completely unaware of what was happening. "You have the worst track record with attendance, anyway."

"Huh?" Santana's thoughts crashed back into the moment when she felt something tug at her arm. She looked down at their linked arms, confused by what was happening but not really caring at the same time.

Iris winked reassuringly and ushered the boys into the car. "Go!"

Xion smiled and bent down to peck a light kiss on Iris' cheek before ducking into the car. Neil waved like an excited little boy as he stuck his head out the window and called, "Don't be late! We'll be setting up!"

They usually rotated the location of their meetings between her loft, Neil's apartment, and Xion and Iris' shared studio. All of their places had dedicated spaces for their communications, equipped with multiple wide HD screens and extra gadgets that did whatever Iris said would help, lost in a jungle of cables tightly zipped together, placed strategically in every one of their place. Iris went to every one of their siblings' places to personally set up a secure network, for these meetings and just to catch up on each other. They all lost at least 20 years of knowing the only family they had so SNIX made sure to keep their little but tight family together.

Iris and Santana's high heels softly clacked against the pavement as Iris and Santana headed towards the direction of Santana's loft. Santana walked like Iris wasn't even there: silently.

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind, Tana?" Iris gently inquired, not wanting to break her but still compelled by a great concern. She used Santana's nickname tenderly, knowing that Santana both wanted and hated to be called Lexi when it was just the two of them; they were each other's reminders of everyone they lost and didn't need any more to remind them of their blunders and heartbreaks.

Santana paused, trying to summon up the utterly inadequate words to share what was on her mind.

"Quinn."

In one word, _the _word, she tried to convey everything. "Quinn" was and wasn't everything. Her heartache, her distress, her desire, her want, in the many shades and degrees it came in, was shoved into one name that was enough to crack her composure in half. And it still wasn't enough to hold the gravity of her feelings.

Iris looked perplexed. "Quinn?" She was surprised that Santana was bringing this up, a secret heartbreak she locked up tightly. Iris could barely pull details from Santana about her. All she knew was that she was beautiful, blonde, and perfect to Santana...which is why Santana couldn't stay with her. Iris, of all people, understood martyrdom. "What about her?"

The back of her eyes throbbed, trying to stem the flood of tears building up. "She's here."

"Where?" Iris spun around, taking her words literally. The street was empty, except for a few people. She was pretty sure none of them were blonde, the only physical trait she knew of Quinn's. Unless Quinn dyed her hair. Which would be weird. Unless she was undercover. _Why would she be undercover?_Iris mentally tried mapping out scenarios in which Quinn needed to not be blond, completely wandering off on her train of thought before remembering Santana's situation. "I don't see her here."

Santana choked out, "In Sahara."

"Tana," Iris sympathetically exhaled and squeezed her baby sister's shoulders with one arm, her chin perched on the top of Santana's slumped head. "How did you run into her? Why is she even here?"

"I don't know, I don't know," Santana muttered, just repeating the only thing she knew: the fact that she didn't know at all. She looked up with wistful eyes that begged Iris to tell her something that would make it better. "You _know_I had to leave, right?" She didn't really need Iris' permission or justification; Iris would support her all the way, like family did unconditionally. But Santana needed Iris to help her believe it, believe her own reasons.

Santana's eyes had a thin film of tears that shimmered in the moonlight, the shards of hazel bold enough in her grief gave a sadly beautiful gleam. "I had to. I was…" Santana hesitated to put her fear out there in the universe, even though Iris already knew, among the many reasons Santana left, the _one_ reason that drove her away. "I was _dying_, Iris."

Anger could drive you and make you productive; it lends so much energy and adrenaline that you could put that into something and build an empire out of it. Iris and her company was a testimony Depression sucked you into a void, a black lifeless void that suspended you in one moment even though the world kept spinning on. Santana would have much rather had Quinn angry at her than grieving her death had she not survived her heart condition.

And Quinn was angry. Santana knew because the blonde had come so far from Lima, Ohio to where she was in her life. Only a few things could drive someone to be so ambitious and one of them was anger. Another was trying to forget a heartbreak. Sometimes, it was both. She, herself, had spent a good deal of time punishing herself for leaving and hurting the best thing she had by working harder, doing more, excellently and recklessly. Santana could accept that she was miserable, but not weak. So she built up, instead of tearing down, in her heartbreak.

With a sigh, Santana leaned her head on Iris' shoulder, trying to compose herself for their family meeting. Iris, with one arm around Santana's shoulders, let her baby sister lean her weight and burdens on her as they continued to walk.

* * *

"C'est pas vrai! No way!" An adorable face popped up one of the sixteen screens across a brick wall in the loft. Eric—their lovely younger "brother" as they like to put it— grinned excitedly at the sight of his older siblings. Eric, age 22 and newly settled in France, spoke with a melodic lilt in his words. Between his cheeky grin, tussled black hair, and blue eyes that sparkled with his excitment, Eric carried a lovable boyish charm. "I can't believe you guys nabbed their reports." He pumped his fist in the air as he declared, "SNIX strikes again! Take that! Pow pow pow!" Eric punched the air a few times for effect, making the four laugh at the sight. He settled down in front of the screen, grinning widely, "So we'll have updates on what Allele is doing soon?"

"Tu connais la musique, you know the routine," Santana smiled, weakly but genuinely, her French and English mixing into her husky voice, brought a tone lower from crying. "We're going to go through some of it first. We need to figure out their conclusions about our conditions. But tell us about you! Ça va? How is it going? You're not sick?"

It made sense that this was always a pertinent question at the start of any conversation. Each of them had some sort of defective trait. Iris cracked a bone at least every few weeks from Allele messing up with her bone density; thankfully, she retained regenerative qualities but it still hurt, nonetheless. She could regenerate, not ignore the pain. Xion had blinding migraines, bad enough to put him to bed for days; it crippled him. Thankfully, Xion maintained his brilliant scientific and medically geared brain. He produced medication that stemmed their problems, even for a little bit. Santana's conditions had worse consequences. They found that her failing heart limited her regenerative abilities from time to time. It once took Santana six hours before bruises and cuts disappeared after a brutal sting operation led by SNIX, blood gushing from her body, her body paling from the lack of blood. The changes in her heart rate were compensated by giving up other functions like regenerating, leaving her on the cusp of death. Neil's condition was a little harder to assuage, though. Neil could lose control of his seizing muscles, which was the very reason he had to quit swimming; God knows when he would drown. Even though Iris and Santana scold him for surfing, you couldn't keep him away from the ocean anymore than you could keep bees from honey; he needed the proximity to water to survive. But between Neil's degenerative condition, Santana's sporadic heart, Xion's migraines, Iris' tendency of bone density changes, they had plenty reason to worry about every one of their siblings.

"Ça va, I think I'm happy here. I like the people and they care about me," Eric beamed proudly. "I saved…" He glanced down at something out of the frame. "….forty six people last week! Twenty-three held at gunpoint, some serious rapes about to happen, a few minor crimes. Et j'en passé! And that's not all!" He held up the paper he was looking at excitedly. "Voilà! I even made a report about it, broken down into demographics, locations, nature of crime, age of victims, age of criminals, gen—"

Iris laughed at his eager enthusiasm as she interrupted to tease, "Okay, okay, fair voir, let me see, _nerd_." She grinned as Eric plastered the pages to the screen, "I meant via email, boy genius. Email us your report and we'll compile it with ours. Blague à part, all kidding aside, we're glad you're adjusting well. You know you can call us if you need anything. Even if you're just homesick for us." Iris winked and smiled good-naturedly. "We'll swing by for a baguette sometime and hit you up."

Eric nodded and smiled wistfully as Iris waggled her fingers goodbye. He smiled, "Fais gaffe, je t'aime."

Santana nodded, without a trace of embarrassment, "Fais gaffe, be careful. We love you, too."

The video chat ended with a happy jingle and the screen went black. Santana glanced around at the panels on the wall.

Neil clapped his hands, "That was the last one!" He looked down at the checklist of the twenty-something names and sighed with relief. "I'm glad they're okay. I think I'm going to swing by check on Jessica though. She sounded like she wasn't sure of what to do."

Iris scoffed at his words, "And I'm sure the fact that she's stationed in Costa Rica helps, huh?" She punched her little brother's shoulder.

Neil cringed and rubbed his shoulder where she punched him, "It's just a weekend! I'm so overdue for a weekend abroad, anyway. Plus, you got to go to Bali last week! I took your night raids."

Xion laughed, catching Iris before she lunged at Neil. Even their playful wrestling sometimes ended up destroying an entire apartment. It happened twice already, their last playful wrestle resulting in Iris chucking Neil out the window, glass raining around him. Santana would consider it abuse if she weren't so used to being strong enough to break door handles if she wasn't delicate around them. Usually, the four of them were so polished and refined, handsome and beautiful figures adorned in well-tailored outfits with a natural air of charm. But most of the time they were alone, they acted like hyper children, just way too fast and way too strong. They were speeding blurs managed to break apart walls if they weren't careful.

"Okay, okay," Iris wriggled out of Xion's arms and bared her teeth as a joking warning. "I'll let you off this time."

Santana pursed her lips in thought, "Neil, what's the status of the crime rates now?" Going over numbers was always a crucial part of their routinely analysis. They needed to figure out the sources of crime and treat the disease, not the symptoms. Petty theft, car jacking were symptoms of diseases like crippling economies, failed business ventures, old-money drama. People were willing to harm a lot of people for a few sheets of money.

Neil nodded as the four of the moved around to sit down at the conference table covered with sheets of tables, graphs, data, medical examinations, forensics, legal review. Everything and anything that gave insight into the safety of the public was on that table. Neil reached over to a black binder and flipped over to a spreadsheet. "Across the continent, it's lower but there's still concern about most of South America. Jessica reported that her team handled most of them. They led a sting-op that overturned six of the major druglords networked throughout four countries last week. She sent us the declining trend of drug circulation, which, in turn, affected crime rates because pawn-level distributors didn't have that source of income anymore."

He glanced up as Santana spoke, her chin perched on her knuckles, "It's a good thing Jessica's team is bigger than ours. Until this settles, there might be a lashback." Her dark eyes narrowed as she tried to predict the direction of their sting-op. "I'll ping Jessica after and let them know that Neil's gonna head down." She turned her attention to him as she continued, "You might have to go back and forth for a few nights. You okay with that?"

He nodded solemnly. Reports weren't a time to be joking around. Iris and Xion watched Santana mentally map out their plans, almost able to hear the gears turning in her head. Sure, they were all smart but Santana possessed some sort of extra layer of intuition that saved them more than once. She studied the situations comprehensively and became adept at drafting out their direction. It went without saying that SNIX was a Santana-led team.

Neil licked his finger and flipped to the next page before he continued, "In North America, both petty and serious crimes are up."

Iris nodded, "I read the bureau's report on Sahara, alone. We're up by 6 percent compared to last week."

"It's the decrease of the dollar's value and the banking system right now," Santana spoke as she stood up and walked over to the windows. The city lights twinkled, blinking on and off. Music blared from the other side of the city; Santana refined her listening to tune out most of the noise now. _All these people…_They never what hit them when the economy collapsed from under them, driving up desperation and crime rates. It was what made the four of them officially team up to monitor the cities and countries in the first place. They couldn't save everyone but no one could say they didn't try. "National unemployment is up by 2.2 percent. I'll ask Alex if she feels ready enough to be monitoring, too."

The other three nodded their consent.

"And?" Santana turned her gaze onto Iris.

Iris ran her fingers through her hair as she picked up the conversation with news of East Asia, "Xiyang Co. and Eridian Co. merger fell through. It is causing a significant deal of tension in China and Singapore. The business spat happened last month but no actions were taken until two days ago when four of the people involved in the merger showed up dead. Max's team is looking into it." She continued to explain major crimes around East Asia before she let Xion take lead of the conversation.

Xion explained his plan of execution for Allele's medical techniques and how it would apply for each of their conditions. He picked up a manila folder of the reports Iris intercepted during a metadata transfer from Allele's network, "The Gamma generation," he pointed to himself and Iris, who came from the same generation of Allele's ECC project. "We have defective chromosomes, which is why Iris and I may need a day for evaluation." Iris hissed disapprovingly. He turned the pages of his report. "Santana, the medication for your condition needs to be updated because your body adjusted too quickly. For now, it still has decent effects but I'd be careful. You drove your body hard last week and," Xion pulled out another report before continuing, "I need to work on optimizing it for Omicron generation's conditions. Until then, I'd stay away from doing anything stupid 'cause it might either take awhile for you to heal or it really can kill you this time. Try not get shot or killed. We do _not_want a repeat of Operation Sixtails, thank you very much. But from their reports, it seems like they're formulating a permanent solution for you. God, they really fucked around with Omicron genes."

Santana rolled her eyes, "Gee, thanks, you make me feel _real_special."

Xion smirked at her reaction before he went on, "And Neil, I'd say be careful but I know you're not really gonna listen."

Neil grinned, "You know me too well."

Xion shook his head at his little brother's response. "I'm still analyzing Allele's reports for sigma generation. Since you and Eric both are sigmas, he may start showing symptoms. We'll just have to keep an eye out."

"And I've already sent the individual medical reports to our network so they should be okay," Xion concluded as he snapped the binder shut.

* * *

For two more hours, they combed through the newest tactics and compiled data they sent out to their networks. Each plan was meticulously drafted, flexible enough for teams to carry out locally. When they finally stood up and stretched, Santana's back cracked loudly as she twisted. Iris yawned. Even Neil's bright energy simmered down a notch or two.

"We should get going. X and I have night raid today," Iris spoke as she made her way over to where Santana was leaning on the desk and pecked her on the cheek. "Take your meds and get some sleep, sis. You know you need your sleep. It makes it harder for you to regenerate if you don't sleep enough," she warned, cupping Santana's cheek with concern. She leaned in a brief hug and whispered, "Call me if you need anything."

Santana smiled weakly at her and nodded. Iris sauntered over to her man, snaked an arm around his waist and he rested his arm on her shoulders. "Shall we, my lady?" Xion swept an arm in front of them, as if to clear a path. _They're so cheesy_, Santana thought as she affectionately watched the pair leave.

Neil grinned as he hooked a finger into his jacket before he tossed it over his shoulder. "Ciao, Tana!" He waved without looking behind him as he walked out the door with his lighthearted stroll.

The door swung shut silently after him.

And the world went silent, leaving Santana alone with her deafening crash of her own thoughts. There were no more people, no more distractions. And when the world silenced like this, the reserved parts of her heart were extracted and laid out painfully. The messy, incorrigible feelings bubbled up.

_Quinn._

_Quinn._

_Quinn._

She let her name roll around in her mind as memories of love and being loved flooded back. Santana laid down, trying to understand that lift in the back of her mind. _Hope_. It was unfamiliar, having been buried away for so long but Quinn, if nothing else, was the catalyst that let hope return to Santana.

* * *

Quinn let her phone stay perched on her cheek as she laid on her side, her other cheek pressed into her pillow.

"…and then her voice cracked. Just completely cracked. She choked on stage," Rachel sounded gleeful on the other end. It made sense because Rachel would finally get the leading role, not a supporting role, if the leading actress was a diabocle. "Anyway, the whole rehearsal was just a nightmare," Rachel concluded. "But this might be good for me!"

"Mmhmm," Quinn responded unenthusiastically.

Rachel took the hint. Quinn got into moods occasionally, Rachel had quickly found out when they first started…. What was it they were? They weren't dating but calling it friends-with-benefits made both of them feel sleazy. They were just friends… with benefits. Sometimes, rehearsals and 26-hour shifts caused a lot of stress and they found a way to blow it off. It was always fun and easy, with no commitments or exclusivity. They would talk and laugh, just hang out in bed, clothed or unclothed.

And occasionally, Quinn would roll over after they reaped their benefits and stare off until they fell asleep. In those times, she didn't want to be touched or spooned or anything. The first time she got into such a mood, Quinn apologized the next day. She smiled and said breezily, "Sorry, I just get tired. I swear, I used to be a normal person."

Rachel giggled at Quinn's claim. "It's okay."

And they went on with their day like the mood never happened. The diva let Quinn's mood pass like the sun rose and set but Santana lingered in Quinn's mind. There were only so many hours she could avoid thinking about Santana, even during sex. So she gave into those thoughts, let her what-ifs and maybes eat away.

Tonight was no different. Running into Santana didn't help her process of trying to forget her. The process of trying to forget always involved remembering who she was trying to forget; it was the constant struggle between remembering and forgetting.

But now, Rachel didn't know what to do. When Quinn was in New York, distracted even in bed, Rachel could walk away from Quinn, make breakfast or read her script, rehearse the lines and notes. On the phone, she couldn't quite walk away as easily. She was stuck in Quinn's limbo.

"So, uh," Rachel hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Quinn murmured into the phone, "Rach, I'm gonna go. I'm sleepy."

"Okay," Rachel quickly replied, eager to let Quinn go and be Quinn. She paused before she continued, "Uh, have a good night."

"Thanks. You, too," Quinn said as the guilt of brushing Rachel off began to settle in. The guilt curled up in her stomach, heavy and ready to stay with her. She tried to mend the situation with: "I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"'Kay, bye!" Rachel quickly hung up and the phone made a quiet _beep_but Quinn didn't bother to take the phone off her cheek; it slid off of her face as she shifted around.

Quinn laid on the bed, not sleepy at all but unwilling to move. She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers into the bed. The sheets were cool against her hot swollen eyelids. The firm bed stood on firm ground, on a firm earth. She was grateful to be pressed against something that was reliable, stable, and constant.

And as she fell into the blissful, mute nothingness of sleep, she heard Brittany's words in the back of her mind, "She had her reasons. It's not enough of an explanation but she did."

_What reasons?_

* * *

_Hey, all,_

_I'm so glad to hear that you guys enjoyed the last chapter. I know you, like I am, are anticipating Quinntana interaction but I needed to set this up for the future plot. As much as I'd like to just tell you what happens, that wouldn't make for a very good story, eh? It's the build-up so patience, my dear readers. But rest assured, the next chapter is **the** reunion and I'm working on getting it out to you all as soon as possible._

_It got a little more scientific than I intended but it was necessary so bear with me, thanks._

_Note: The French that they spoke has translations right next to it and I think it's accurate... I hope. They're idioms, too, so it's not literally translated. _

_And of course, thanks for reading, all :) I love hearing your suggestions and have already written some of them in ;) You guys are so sweet, best readers ever._

**_Leave some love, thoughts, and reviews - and always, happy reading!_**


	25. II: It Hurts Because It Matters

**II: It Hurts Because It Matters**

* * *

_Moans filled the room, humid and hot with the two bodies pressed up against each other. Legs and fingers entangled themselves into each other. Sweat glistened on Santana's back as nails scratched along Santana's side ribs, leaving long, tender, red scrapes. It was all this wanting, all this pushing and pulling, but no real satisfaction._

_Santana pulled back to catch a breath and saw… that yoga instructor's face looking back at her. And she watched, horrified, as the face turned into Leah, the bartender at Gaslamp's, her black tattoos snaking her arms in delicate spirals. And then Meredith, the TA in her International Relations class in her first year with a splash of freckles across her shoulders. Then Sara, the blonde sorority girl who got drunk and practically threw herself onto Santana at the Alpha Delta Omega annual Halloween bash her third year. Jessica, one of the models for the Nike campaign, whose skin was almost the same color as Santana's caramel tones, her toned calves firm around Santana's waist. The face changed again and again, dragging Santana down the memory lane of girls who unsuccessfully tried to fill the void in Santana's life._

_The scratches weren't just on her skin. There was a hunger for something to take up space inside of her, something so ragged and sharp that Santana was surprised that she wasn't being torn from the inside out. And the one face she wanted to see was never the one looking back at her._

_And as the hands pulled to drag her back into this carnal act, Santana could almost cry. This was too meaty, too crude, like the sex plunged into Santana with all the pulsing and sweating without any of the desires and beauty. It went on indefinitely, like all nightmares do._

Tears leaked out from the corner of Santana's eyes, her body imprisoned by her own past regrets until she woke up.

* * *

Santana laid quietly on her bed with her eyes closed, the fading flashes of her nightmare replaying in the back of her eyelids, the bruises of the most recent night raid fading slowly but steadily from the dark purple hues to some variation of green to yellow before finally returning to its normal state. The shattered bones from being melded back together, tiny fractures and fissures closing to form whole bones again. Slashes across her body took its sweet old time to close up, broken ends of veins reconnecting, the tissue and muscle reforming to keep its firm composition, all before the skin slowly found its way to cover her skin.

Pills are always hard to swallow but Santana managed to choke down the little white circles that saved her life more than once. Unfortunately, the thought of a particular girl lodged itself in her throat, getting stuck the way she always feared that those little pills would and it was much worse than she had ever imagined. Perotroxin, the medication that Xion developed based off of what Lara had given Santana years ago, was a little easier to swallow than heartbreak.

Iris sat beside her, brushing strands of Santana's hair away from her face, watching Santana's gaze move around her ceiling of her loft apartment. Iris hummed quietly, a strand of melody of a lullaby she learned while abroad in Spain.

It wasn't like Santana to be so reckless on night raids. Xion said that he had to pull off six sleazeball guards watching the docks for their shipments of cocaine and God knows what else. They tracked this operation over six months, letting the smaller crimes pass so that they could execute the larger sting op and climb up the hierarchy of thugs and assholes that apparently ran this. What worried Iris was that six guys was nothing to Santana and still, the Latina let the men attack her brutally; she had seen Santana plow through an entire building of guards before. They even had kept an unsaid competition on who could dismantle the most guards in an operation (mainly, because the boys were getting cocky and Iris and Santana wanted to put them in their place. Santana and Iris led the numbers by a long shot for eight consecutive months.) with Santana leading at eighty-six guards under twenty minutes. Not that they always terminated the pawns but at least, they disabled them. And for a girl who could disable and terminate eighty-six thugs under half an hour, Santana seemed to have let six measly guards kick the living shit out of her.

And it made Iris sad because there was nothing as dangerous and tragic as watching her baby sister let the world punish her again and again for something she did out of love so many years ago.

More than just being faster and stronger than even Xion, Santana was, if anything, methodical and precise; she knew what she wanted, what needed to be accomplished, and the efficient and cost-effective route to getting there. Iris could recall the ruthlessness in Santana's eyes when she had less than two seconds to decide whether or not executing a criminal was worth it, the first time she faced someone who really wreaked havoc on thousands of lives. After that first decision, Santana changed into a person with a burning house; every moment was about holding onto the most important things and finishing off the rest. Without really having to make a formal decision, SNIX had let Santana take lead because it felt natural to have someone headstrong, decisive and smart but caring to lead the way. Xion always said Iris cared a little too much, emotionally invested just a tad too much to be able to do what Santana does everyday. And considering how Iris had waited at Santana's bedside during her recovery for about an hour, despite how much of her own shit she had to get done for tomorrow's early technical strategy meetings, Iris couldn't help but agree.

But right now, the girl lying on the bed was pale ghost of the person Santana had grown to be in the past decade, the shell of a person she was when Iris first found her.

_"Hi…" Iris said to the girl who opened a dorm room door. She looked nothing like the picture Iris committed to her memory from the Nationals Cheerleading Competition winners. In that snapshot, a petite brunette stood next to a blonde, two figures just a step or two in front of the rest of the squad, clearly the leaders. The glare the brunette gave into the lens of the camera struck the very familiar feeling of fear in Iris; she knew enough cheerleaders that tortured her and her group of mathletes to last her a lifetime. Iris did her best to steer clear of cocky cheerleaders, Plastics, bitches, so on. But Santana Lopez wasn't just a cheerleader, even though the bitch expression on her face said she was just like every other cheerleader._

_No, but this girl, the one who stood in front of her, looked a little broken, a little lost, and a little confused to why there was a total stranger standing in her doorway. She wore a modest black v-neck and grey jeans, no trace of make-up on her face, though her face didn't need any. Under the fragile expression was a striking face, young and maybe a little heartbroken but nonetheless, beautiful in the way that Allele could only mold. A lost expression looked back at Iris, who instantly saw the shards of hazel barely visible even to Iris' trained eyes. Allele's trademark on their mutilated bodies. This was the girl. Iris asked hesitantly, even though she already knew the answer, "Are you, uh, Santana Lopez?"_

_The girl searched her face and Iris searched back. She was probably an inch or two shorter, a stunning figure and face veiled by modesty and what appeared as tragedy in her eyes._

_"Who are you?" She asked quietly, like she couldn't handle the sound of her own voice. By the looks of it, this girl was a touch away from shattering, anyway. A tumult of emotions seemed to be stirring inside of her._

_"Sorry, this may seem random but have you…" Iris inhaled, taking a moment to pause at the risk of sounding crazy. Before her meager courage could escape her, she pushed out the rest of her question, "everheardofacompanynamedAlle le?"_

_The girl's eyes widened and stepped back slowly, cautiously and suspiciously. Her hand gripped the edge of door, a moment away from slamming it in this woman's face, when –_

_"No, wait!" Iris realized her error: Santana thought she worked for Allele. "I just… I…"_

_Santana softened a little at the sight of this Allele-beautiful woman stuttering in front of her, this stranger's exquisite beauty lost in her ….what looked like, nervousness. Why was she nervous of Santana? The Allele she knew was cold and calculative, so unlike the stuttering, anxious woman in front of her. What could Allele have done that–_

_"My name is Iris. I'm your sister. I've been looking for you."_

_Oh._

At those words, a flood of relief barreled into Santana; she didn't realize how much she needed a family, someone who understood her, until she finally had someone like Iris. They became like any two sisters, little girls that stayed up all night, recounting the past 18 or so years of their lives that they missed out on. Most nights, the single felt large and empty for Santana. With Iris, it felt like someone actually lived there and Santana, for the first time since she moved, felt grateful that she didn't have a roommate. Sometime, between describing what it was like to be a Cheerio (completely jumping over the Quinn-part) to being in Glee, between Iris' tales of mathlete "study parties" and getting perfect scores on the SATs, exhaustion crept slowly, unnoticeably. Santana laid awake in her bed, not opening her eyes; instead, she tried desperately to hold onto the wisps of the best dream she had. An indescribable gratitude warmed Santana when she realized she really did have a sister; her eyes landed on Iris, still hazy with sleep.

Iris quickly learned about Santana's nightmares, the ones that left wet streaks on her baby sister's cheeks. She never inquired about what tormented Santana at night. But over the years, she learned from the slips in passing, the quiet mentions of a girl, a heartbreak, someone who loved her, someone Santana saved. Bit by bit, over the course of years, Iris collected the pieces of the story, scattered wildly and far apart like torn paper blown away by a gust of wind. All the while, Iris was there for Santana, as she mended her mind and heart and became the strong woman who led them today. The broken girl that Iris' eyes landed on the first time she opened her dorm room door transformed into a brilliant strategist, a methodical and caring leader who invested more than she should have into the small family they gathered over the years. It was Santana who found Xion and Neil, grateful for the distraction of searching for their siblings that helped her forget about Quinn, even for a moment. It was Santana who mapped out how to protect people from themselves as the economy plummeted and desperate people turned to desperate solutions. It was Santana who helped Iris start her company and figure out what they needed to do. SNIX knew Santana as a pillar, strong and constant. But with one glance, one unnerving word from Quinn, that pillar crumbled to dust.

Santana always knew what to do, except when it came to her own happiness. Iris heard that when you lose one of your five senses, the other four become enhanced; Santana suffered some version of that. Santana lost the ability to be happy and because of that, she excelled in all other aspects of her life.

If there was one thing good that came out of the heartbreak, it was that it gave Iris a chance that she wouldn't have had otherwise to be the older sister that Santana had needed. And it gave Santana the chance to save herself.

In this moment, though, she didn't feel quite saved. The multitude of what-ifs, regrets, and maybes welled up inside, threatening to crack the frail exterior, held barely together by the soft cover of her skin and sanity. The thoughts of the blonde flooded, like an over-filled glass bottle, the overwhelming notions and reflections pressing against the fragile walls, delicate as glass.

But the one thought that stood out, especially as she felt the broken pieces of her body slowly come together, was the speech she was trying to summon, the one that she knew she would have to say to Quinn, the one that left her breathless, her stomach doing somersaults, her palms slightly damp with nervousness. Thinking about approaching Quinn was both exciting and agonizing, the contradictory emotions as binary and opposite as the feeling of being burned and frozen, . But she knew in her bones, in the blood coursing in her veins, in the small ache of her mind, even this anticipation of facing Quinn was step closer to the reason most people lived this thing called life.

Santana lay still on the bed, oblivious to her body returning to some state of normal, to the cries and screams of people who needed a savior that seemed distant today, to even Iris' palpable concern as she watched Santana worriedly. Santana waited patiently for the calamity in her heart to seem beautiful again in the light of potential and possibility. Bad news had a way of stopping her ambition for a few days but hope had a way of paralyzing Santana, seeping into every vertebra of her spine until it rendered her useless.

* * *

"I never noticed these on the walls, Tina," Quinn quietly mused as she walked down the hall towards her own office, Tina walking with her, their cups of tea in hand. Tina followed Quinn's gaze to the line of framed photographs on the wall. The clean, natural walls kept photographs in modestly simple black frames, making a straight panel of frames. _You wouldn't even notice them, not unless you really looked, _Quinn thought as she glanced at each one.

"Mmhmm," Tina responded, not really into the pictures. "Yeah, I guess they've been here awhile. I don't know, I never really noticed either."

"How can you not," Quinn's question was full of disbelief. _They're stunning…_

Tina laughed at Quinn's reaction. "I don't know, it's not really my thing." Tina spun to face Quinn, glancing at her phone as she swept in for a hug, "I just got paged for rounds. Thanks for the coffee break! You know how it is." Tina hugged her with one arm quickly and was down the elevator faster than Quinn could process what had happened.

Quinn shook her head, remembering what it was like during her residency. She was just as busy as Tina, if not busier, though that all seemed like a lifetime ago. Scratch that, she was for sure busier than Tina; she had ghosts to outrun, although they seemed to have caught up to her. Sahara felt like an entirely differently world, another life, but somehow, it still had Santana. _What is she doing now? _

When the blonde looked up, trying to erase the image of someone she used to know from her mind, and her eyes landed on a frame on the far end of the wall facing her, all thoughts and memory flew out the window. Something about the photograph drew her in closer, until she was inches from the glass panel. A simple black frame that held a black and white photograph. As she walked closer, smaller details of the photograph came into view, inviting her until she was a few inches from the frame, scrutinizing what was captured in a photograph.

It was a black and white picture of a dancer, contemporary or ballet, it was impossible to tell. But the dancer's leg was extended forward, the flow of her clothes rippling behind her. Patches of sunlight streamed into the studio, catching light on the floating dust, a subtle but powerful effect. What was more intriguing, though, was the expression on the dancer's face. It was wistfully beautiful, a carefully balanced mix of sadness and joy of dancing. Her eyes were casted down but turned three-quarters, as if she were about to approach the camera. The shot caught her at a vulnerable moment in her movement, her eyes revealing that she was not quite back in this world yet; she was still dancing with the moon somewhere in her mind.

The details were exquisite. The timelessness of the sadness on her face resonated deeply with Quinn, even though she couldn't pin down the exact emotion. The timing of the shot couldn't be more perfect. It was modest, unembellished by the colors and intricate frames that the other works seemed to need. Quinn felt drawn not to the dancer in the photograph but to the photographer who caught it and felt generous enough to share it with the people who couldn't find it in themselves to search for beauty in the cracks and details of the mundane world.

And then she knew what this picture was about, what this dancer was dancing about: loss.

* * *

Iris walked down the hall to Xion's office, two coffees in hand. _I need one of these…_Iris mused over the line of photographs that the center had commissioned Santana for. Even though Iris had bugged her sister relentlessly for something to put on her walls, she was taking her sweet old time. Santana promised to give her a framed photograph, signed and all, as soon as she snapped the perfect shot but it seemed that waiting for perfection would take a long time.

Unlike most art pieces that needed ornate frames to complement it, Santana's art was striking all on its own. Its modest black frames took nothing away from the exquisite photographs she took.

Iris smiled when she saw the familiar favorite at the end of the hall, a few feet from Xion's office, her personal favorite of a black and white photograph of contemporary dancer. Melissa, Brittany's friend, wanted to know what she looked like when she danced so Santana offered to photograph her. Iris tagged along with the three of them on their photography adventure. Santana dressed Melissa in various outfits, had her twirl around in a bunch of places but Santana wasn't happy with any of those images.

_"They don't capture it," Santana had pouted, frustrated that her shots weren't perfect. Iris thought they were beautiful but hey, she thought a screen of scrolling binary code was all the art anyone needed; what did she know?_

_"They don't capture what? They're so pretty, Tana," Brittany had asked tiredly; Santana was making them walk all over without a real direction._

_"These are great," Iris declared, determined to end this wandering walk. She may be superhuman and all but that didn't mean walking miles in heels didn't hurt at all. "Let's go-o-o-ooo." Iris hated the whine that crept into her voice when she was tired. Sometimes, she forgot she was the older sister._

_"You'll know when you see it," Santana muttered as she tinkered with the buttons on the camera. Santana sighed as she flipped through the shots, completely unsatisfied._

_Four miles and twelve outfits later, they ended up back in Melissa's studio, just to watch her rehearse. Santana and Brittany watched her perform the contemporary piece she was doing for their fall tour which Santana bought tickets for. The minute Melissa fell into her routine, Santana saw it and had her camera at hand in a flash. The sound of camera shutters snapping didn't reach Melissa in her movement._

_Snap._  
_Snap._  
_Snap._

Brittany saw _it_, the picture Santana meant to capture, and then never doubted her vision again. Staring at the snapshot, Iris felt everything that Santana saw in that moment Melissa danced and it sent chills down her spine every time, no matter how many times she saw it.

Melissa looked delicate, ethereal and timeless in that black and white. In the flicker of an expression on the dancer's, Santana caught all the wistfulness and sadness of the movement, one moment in a piece about, what else but, lost love. She recognized the movements, the expression, the emotion written all over Melissa in a few steps; she understood that feel of lost love too well, having measured her life and time in two categories: time spent with Quinn and time spent without Quinn.

For years after Iris had found Santana but before they found Xion and Neil, Iris lived with Santana. What she learned was that Santana was private, private with her happiness, private with her sadness. She shared enough with Iris, mentioned things here and there, but there was so much of her life she never spoke about. Sure, she cried for a long time about a girl named Quinn when Iris first found her but details were always lacking and there were more to the story than Santana ever divulged. It was obvious from the nightmares Santana had every night. Sometimes, Santana would thrash silently in bed, like she was being held down. Sometimes, she would whimper. But in almost every nightmare, Santana unconsciously spilled one name in her sleep: Quinn. Iris seriously doubted even Xion or Neil knew anything.

Yes, Santana had known heartbreak very well and kept it to herself for the most part.

But, whether subconsciously or explicitly, it translated eloquently into her personal photography. The flashy advertisements she photographed for featured the very effect a client wanted, like seduction or sweet, but in her personal photography, like this one, Santana poured herself without inhibition into the images, like she had nowhere else to put all these emotions she never really shared. _Santana is so talented, _Iris thought as a small proud smile played on her lips. She couldn't help be proud that even though Allele had done everything it could to produce the perfect soldier, a warrior who didn't flinch from emotions, they produced a beautiful artist, one that laid her heart out in every photograph she took.

"It's exquisite."

Iris turned to the voice that breathed out the words like this was the photograph for which the word "exquisite" was made for. A blonde woman was staring intently at the picture, like she just said the words out loud but not really to Iris. She seemed frozen, with her cup of tea in one hand and her face close to glass panel. The folders in her hand indicated she worked here but Iris didn't recognize her at all.

"It is, isn't it?" Iris replied, curious about this stranger of a woman who disrupted Iris' understanding and arrangement of her universe and all the beings in it. At least, Iris approved her taste in art. The blonde woman glanced at her, her green eyes startling Iris with the particular shades of green and hazel mixed in her eyes.

The blonde turned back to the frame and replied at the photograph, "I love that expression... it's wistful and...somewhat heartbreaking. The way her legs are about to take off, her arms held out like that, the slight bent in her figure." She used a finger to trace the curve of the dancer to the expression on her face, finger hovering a hair's breadth away from touching the frame, utterly mesmerized by emotion on the dancer's face. A faint hint of pink touched her cheeks as the woman blushed, recognizing how strangely she was behaving in front of a total stranger.

"It's okay," Iris smiled good-naturedly; her fascination with the image was much like her own response when she first saw the photograph. "I know exactly what you mean. The photographer speaks volumes in her shots, doesn't she?"

The blonde woman turned to her and settled her focused gaze onto Iris. Something indescribable was stirring behind those green eyes, searching Iris' face like she recognized Iris from somewhere. It was like this woman–

"Hey, there you are," a deep voice pulled them both out of their reverie. Iris felt the lips land on her cheek, the comforting smell of clean, shaven skin brushing against her as strong arms wrapped around her small frame. "I need that, you know." Xion reached for the cup of coffee in her hands, still warm in Iris' hands. "Seriously, if you keep missing my office 'cause of this photograph and deprive me of my caffeine, I'm going to harass Santana until she gives you the negatives."

The blonde, who had been watching curiously at their intimate interaction, flinched a little at the sound of Santana's name, her reaction irking Iris just the slightest. Xion picked up on the moment (for once, he wasn't completely oblivious) and started, "Oh, hey, Quinn, this is Iris." He didn't really have to say girlfriend; it was pretty obvious. "Iris, this is Quinn. She's the new face of Oceanside." He winked at Iris as he continued, "And quite a beautiful one at that." Quinn chuckled when the petite and gorgeous woman, so polished and refined, spun and punched him in the arm like a child. Xion laughed as he rubbed his arm; he drew her into a tight hold and laughed to Iris, "But there's no one like you."

You couldn't tell but the dots were connecting so quickly in Iris' mind_. New doctor. Quinn. Blonde. Striking. New doctor here. Santana's Quinn. _Xion looked at her expectantly as Iris paused to take in the situation. Quinn extended a delicate hand forward and offered a polite smile, "It's nice to meet you, Iris."

"Hi, Quinn," Iris shook her hand and smiled at her. "It's nice to finally put a name to the face. I've heard a lot about you," she said vaguely. Quinn knitted her brows at the words, confused at why this woman would know her. _How does she know Santana? How does she know me?_Before she could ask, Iris turned and spoke a little more quietly, a little more discreetly. "Babysis is coming up to... talk."

Xion raised his eyebrows. Iris explained, to some degree, the complicated past that his little sister shared with his newest coworker. It was a little hard to connect Santana's Quinn to this Quinn but who was he to doubt Iris and her powers of observation? Her hint was enough to indicate that they needed to clear the way; Santana was headstrong and somewhat dangerous when she set her mind on something. That "something" was now a conversation with Quinn. He cleared his throat, "Hey, Quinn, we're going to head back to my office. We'll catch you later, yeah?"

Without really waiting for an answer, he put an arm around Iris' shoulder and walked her down the hall. Iris turned back once to catch another glimpse of a woman who meant, apparently, everything to her sister. Even in that fleeting glance, her almond shaped eyes, the near-black of them sent a flash of familiarity through Quinn's mind; her confidence and protectiveness was...familiar.

For a long time, Quinn understood the world in terms of Santana. As in "that girl looks like Santana" or "she would have loved this" or "it's like that time we…." The brunette drinking tea at a cafe in New York. That breeze of cinnamon and something familiar that wrapped around Quinn occasionally. A melancholic sunset, streaked with pink and orange. Each elevator ride that brought a moment of weightlessness. A serene silence, like the one after a song has finished playing. Any snippet that reminded her of Santana raised her heart high with hopes; when the moment of recognition passed, her heart made a reverse trajectory and plummeted back down to the pit of her stomach. It was a struggle, trying to forget. Every person, at one point or another, encounters someone who becomes a city, a nation, a world, no matter how long or well they knew that person. Santana was the person by which Quinn measured the rest of the world.

And she understood Iris' curiously protective glare as the one Santana bestowed on anyone who made fun of Brittany, undermined the Unholy Trinity. She tried to shrug off the feeling of a familiar plunge after having seen a snippet of Santana in Iris' eyes as Quinn shook her head and turned back towards her own office.

* * *

The two paper cups of burning tea seared her hands as Santana waited anxiously in the elevator, the quiet _dings_ echoing in her ears as they passed each floor. Dread and excitement settled in her gut, making her grateful for the second-degree burns that healed and burned, healed and burned, in some sick cycle. _God, elevators are so fucking slow_, she thought, while also being grateful that it was delaying the conversation she never thought she would have.

In that sick way only the universe can plan, the elevator music reminded her of why she was here, as if her own thoughts weren't reminder enough. The upbeat notes of Edward Sharpe's Home seemed to contradict the very nervousness Santana felt, the very serious reasons she had for coming to this office, the very important girl she'd rather have in her life in some way, in any way, really.

_Ah, home,_  
_Let me come home,_  
_Home is wherever I'm with you._  
_La la la la, take me home,_  
_Baby, I'm coming home._

The elevator doors opened just as the song entered into a cheerful whistle.

Santana inhaled, preparing herself for the unpredictable, long journey home.

* * *

Quinn drained the last bit of her tea from her cup as she caught up on Dr. Warner's –_damn it, I mean, Sarah_– patients. Quinn leaned against the desk, the open folder in her hand, her other hand setting down the cup on the desk supporting her. It may or may not be professional to sit on her desk but half-standing, half-leaning helped her stay focused in a way that sitting in a chair couldn't.

And there was this particular patient that perplexed Quinn. This girl didn't quite seemed to have opened up to Dr. Warner, even though the parents paid for it. The notes said, "clear absence of parents and strong guidance growing up, seems reluctant to share, parents seem to pass her off like a burden". This girl, Tessa, tugged at Quinn's heartstrings, reminding her of why she started on this path in the first place. There was so much hurt in the world that Quinn felt the need to do her part of relieve some of that pain. Quinn sighed, wishing she had more tea in her cup as she considered that some of the worldly pain, maybe a lot of it, was her own pain and—

"Hey." A quiet voice cut through Quinn's thoughts.

An average human heart weighs roughly 250 grams. Quinn had seriously doubted this fact, despite what her medical books told her. She thought about the many lives she carried with her in her heart, the people she cared for in her heart, the stories she heard and held dearly, all these things carefully tucked away in her heart. She thought about the curves, the contours and dips, the quiet smiles and laughter she carried in her heart. When she thought about it, she seriously doubted that all these things amounted to only 250 grams. _I suppose it could be true_, she had considered at one point in her life. But she looked up at the voice that said "hey" and _knew_it couldn't be true. The ocean of… something inexplicable that existed in her heart when she looked at Santana in her door frame, with its tsunamis and hurricanes, couldn't weigh only 250 grams.

Santana didn't know what she wanted to hear back. There wasn't really much you can say in reply to "hey," especially after ten years of being absent. But she wanted to hear that voice, even if it was screaming at her.

Instead, Quinn stared at her so intensely that Santana lost herself, for a moment, in the stripes of gold and emerald alternating in her hypnotic irises. Looking at the infinity in her eyes suddenly dwarfed the swirling galaxies of fears and anxiety that existed just below that pseudo-confidence, just below the skin. She put down the two paper cups of tea at the nearest available surface.

"Do you have a minute to talk?" Santana was sure that what she needed to say was going to take more than a minute, even though she didn't quite know what she was going to say. The words had drowned in the perplexed gaze looking at her, a faint veneer of masked anger. It made the brunette wish she was still holding onto the cups, holding onto anything, really.

Quinn couldn't quite believe it, even though Santana stood in front of her, so clearly present in her life. Even as she stared at her, Quinn imagined this for so long that she couldn't quite believe it when the brunette was standing at her door. The rush of anger, longing, weariness all crowded inside her mind, fighting to take control. In the struggle of emotions, Quinn gave the slightest nod.

Santana moved swiftly and confidently at that slight movement. Not that she was cocky. Looking at the blonde, she knew what she had to do and she had to do it before the courage slipped away. She stopped a few feet in front of Quinn as the blonde made the mental decision to hold tightly onto the anger that made her writhe inside and lash out at Brittany.

"I'm sorry."

Or not.

The symptom of the cancer of first loves was the tendency to completely melt when they said the words you wanted to hear. Two words that spilled from Santana's lips were the faint drizzles that would snuff out Quinn's anger. Someday, if not today.

But Santana's voice cracked, the drizzle that worked to smother her anger turning into a sprinkle. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Q, for everything and anything I did to you. I'm so sorry that I couldn't stay for you. I'm sorry that I didn't give us a chance. I'm sorry that– " A steady stream of apologies hit Quinn's deaf ears. The apology wasn't in the words. It was in faint track of the one tear making its way down Santana's cheek, the cracking voice, the defeated posture, the way she looked into Quinn's eyes and then looked away like she would shatter if she stared too long. The words continued out of her lips but fell silent before they reached Quinn, stoic in her quiet, carefully controlled anger.

Santana's words came to a slow stop. The apologies emptied out of her like water from a cup. The apologies weren't just for what she did to Quinn; it was what she did to herself. What she put herself through. How much she hated herself for what she did and deprived herself of. So even though Quinn's glazed eyes told her she wasn't really listening, Santana couldn't stop herself from apologizing until all the guilt emptied out of her.

It was silent at the end of Santana's river of guilt. Quinn didn't really have anything to say. Santana didn't know what to expect, really.

But she did get up from the desk, stood close enough to hug or slap Santana. The wave of jasmine made Santana flinch inwardly, even though she didn't let her anxiety reach her face. Quinn stood there, unsure of how to respond, torn between the polar opposite feelings struggling to push her body one way or another.

Until Santana let out the words that meant something to her, quiet as her breath: "I haven't been able to fly. Not since I last…. saw Lima." She didn't have to say it but they both knew she meant the last time Quinn saw Santana, the last time Santana stood in Lima, the last time Quinn would hear from Santana.

"_I'm so sorry, Q," Santana whispered as she stood at the edge of Lima, Ohio. The sun glared down like it was condemning her. She didn't need the sun's judgment; a seed of regret already inched its way into Santana's heart. It would soon blossom into a full-fledged tragedy._

_Santana took a step away. One foot, then the other. For awhile, Santana walked away from Lima, almost willing someone to stop her. Mentally, she begged for a sign from the universe telling her that this was wrong, leaving Quinn was wrong. Quinn was… the best thing she never really quite had. But Santana always circled back to the fact that it was the best thing, the best thank-you, she could give Quinn: to not take the angel down with Santana's fucked-upness. Yes, fucked-upness. Because that's what Allele had made her life into: a series of fucked-up moments and fucked-up people._

_And there was only so much of that explanation that could fit into a voicemail._

_The brunette sighed, a multitude of emotions mixed in there. The asphalt felt foreign under her feet. _

_She bent her knees, crouched…. And jetted off. The wind blasted her tears, making them creep across her face and disappear like they were never there. It was the last time she flew._

And it made sense and satisfied Quinn in a way that slapping Santana wouldn't have. Santana lost something, broke something inside of her. The blonde felt some sort of justice in the world that Santana lost something that was as easy as breathing when she lost Quinn, just as Quinn broke when Santana left her.

Quinn took a step towards her.

_Smack_.

Without even realizing it until her hand met Santana's cheek, Quinn looked startled at the sharp crack in the air when she slapped Santana suddenly and unexpectedly. But the itch of anger felt finally scratched, relieving Quinn. The swift movement emptied her of anger and made room for Quinn's regret, anguish and the flood of emotions that was too much to understand.

Santana looked surprised as Quinn, though, the red of her cheek disappearing before it even turned a slight pink.

Quinn's demeanor hardened, unable to fathom what she just did, what Santana just said. She replayed the entire encounter moment by moment as she turned away, facing the windows, the setting sun streaming warm light that cut through her coldness. "I think you should go."

* * *

"But you love her," Brittany innocently stated as a matter of fact.

Quinn narrowed her eyes at the glass of wine in her hands. Even though she was half-unpacked, she managed to dig up two wineglasses from her cardboard boxes for the wine that Brittany brought over the minute Iris told her that Quinn and Santana were having a talk. Brittany didn't mention that Iris told her that Quinn would probably need a friend tonight.

Brittany came without a moment's hesitation, not letting their last emotional encounter stand as a barrier in their friendship. Brittany had a beautiful way of forgiving people: she accepted it, chose to love anyway and moved on. Quinn was grateful that Brittany's generosity was enough to consume her own awkwardness; it helped her forgive herself for viciously directing her anger at Brittany who was so undeserving of it. Even now, as Quinn stewed in some emotional cocktail of bitterness, desire, and anger, it was laced with gratitude for Brittany.

"I _was_ in love with her," Quinn murmured at the wine. "But things change. _I've_ changed." She stared at her open palm, still unable to believe she slapped Santana.

Brittany blinked her eyes blankly. People changed but love didn't change. Love was strong. Love was patient. And Quinn didn't seem to recognize that even her own anger was born out of love.

Quinn sipped, letting the taste of alcohol and grape sink into her tongue before she admitted, "I don't need that kind of pain again."

And from Brittany's mouth, Quinn heard the wisest thing the blonde ever say (perhaps, she hid all these gems away in her mind until the right moment): "It's always going to hurt. Whether it's love, change, whatever, it's always going to hurt because it matters, Q."

* * *

"How are you," Iris asked cautiously. Her legs dangled over the edge of the roof, twenty-three stories of air separating Iris and Santana's legs from the concrete of the city below. Xion and Neil offered so kindly, taking Santana's personal issues into consideration. Besides, Santana did take over Neil's when he had a wicked hangover (alcohol affected them differently due to their individual body composition) or his body went into uncontrollable spasms. Or when Xion decided to treat Iris out to a romantic getaway in Bolivia.

Santana inhaled and exhaled steadily, feeling grateful as each breath drew in clean, cool sweeps of air. She didn't need to have her watches covered; in fact, she needed those raids because of the answer to Iris' question.

How was she, really?

"I feel frozen, standing, waiting for the lights to change. I hear nothing. I feel irrelevant."

_This was what purgatory must feel like_, she thought. _To be stuck in limbo, waiting for someone's judgment._

And with the last of her words, Santana pushed herself off the edge into the chaotic mess of people below, knowing that if Quinn didn't need or want her, there was a poor soul somewhere who did. Someone who was being attacked. Someone who was being exploited. Someone who was hurting. Someone in the world needed her.

* * *

_It's a headache,_ Quinn diagnosed the ache in the back of her eyes as she climbed between the cool sheets of her bed. It wasn't just a headache, though. Her eyes hurt. Her heart ached. Her skin prickled with discomfort. Her body felt heavy, weighing her down with an ocean of…. o_f what?_

She had gone for so long without a part of her that felt so essential. Phantom limb, they say. The act of feeling and searching for what is not there. She didn't know what to do, how to feel, when her phantom girl came back into her life.

Except that she needed Santana to figure out how she felt.

She needed to see Santana to know what she wanted.

She needed Santana.

* * *

_Hi, guys,_

_I am so so so so sorry for the slow update. It was because I actually wrote the story going one way (incredibly intricate details and everything) and then, when I had it all ready to upload, I erased it and changed the direction entirely. I had to really think about how someone recovers from a heartbreak but thought you guys might appreciate a little insight into what happened to Santana in the ten years. And you know, school and stuff. _

_And thanks so much for your patience & kind words/reviews/pms. _

_Things to come: Quintanna, obviously. I told you, happy endings, always. And perhaps, it may be slower than you'd hope for but just know that it's partially your anxious anticipation (some of you mentioned that you wish you could just read the whole story at once but the anticipation is the best part!) and partially because I want to make this as rich, as long, as beautiful as possible._

_By the way, once this all ends, the big plot of it, at least, I'm thinking of continuing this as short excerpts of their lives, of SNIX, etc. What say you? Or I can start a new quintanna fanfic if anyone has any suggestions._

_Anyway, thanks again! __Leave some love, reviews, whatever your heart desires, dear reader. You guys are the best readers I could ever ask for._

_With muchmuchmuch love, _  
**_C._**

**_(aka notcallingyoualiar)_**


	26. II: Moving at an Accelerated Rate

**II: Moving at an Accelerated Rate**

* * *

The wind whistled through her hair as she jumped off her mountaintop, the skyscraper over Sahara. It was a cold blast of wind that came through the thin fabric of her clothes. In the fall, she felt weightless, the feeling of flying without having to fly. This was the closest that Santana came to flying since she left Quinn ten years ago.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit," Santana muttered angrily, her eyes squinting at a grainy map of Leuhan, France. In the outskirts of the small town of Leuhan, there was a grainy rectangle. To anyone else, it would be insignificant but Neil's words were proving otherwise.

Neil leaned over their round table, propped on his left elbow and pointing to the smudge of a rectangle. "So I thought it was just weird that there was an industrial area in the middle of this rural town and when we track Allele's finances, there's human capital being shipped there." _Human capital_. The words sent chills down Santana's spine. _Like we're just products. Assets. Soldiers for sale. Pick a soldier, any soldier. _

Iris clenched her jaw at the sound of Allele's name, composing her anger and bitterness for a moment before she continued Neil's observations. "I tracked all the communication flows and this is one of Allele's main data points. Networks flow from here." She dragged her finger from Allele headquarters to a spot that the rectangle sat in. "There are definitely other points but this is the only we've checked out in person." She walked over to a large touchscreen. With swift swipes, she brought up two portraits, pointing to them as she continued.

"This—" Iris pointed to one of the portraits and glanced at the duplicated screen on the tablet at hand, reading off the details of her compiled report. "—is Victoria Askobar. She runs the human capitals division of Allele. Age 46. Head of Human Capitals Operations, or HCO. Entered Allele when she was twenty-three as a genetics researcher."

Santana cut Iris's description, "So she was part of ECC?"

"_Is_. She's still there at Allele and probably one of the original members."

_She would have a hand in our ailments, _Santana mused, twirling her pen at hand. The pen spun rapidly on the tip of her thumb knuckle of her closed fist. Santana got up from the table, pacing on the light bamboo floors of Neil's apartment, the location of tonight's meeting. Her caramel skin glowed, even though the sun had long gone down. Iris, Neil, and Xion watched her, waiting for Santana's plan of action. Santana was very much aware of their eyes. In this space, in this hour of their life, in these meetings, Santana felt the burden of leadership weigh heavily on her shoulders.

_Termination of Allele is going to be a wide-scale operation._  
_We need to allocate all of our assets onto a network-wide strategy meeting._  
_Let them know what's happening. Have them put on extra surveillance and scouting._  
_And SNIX. 4 members._

Dark eyes, glowing with hazel shards, set their gazes on the brunette, serious in thought. Santana weighed the options and possibilities, unnerved by the intensity of the stares.

"Iris, I need you to follow the network flows. Trace every possible location of any potential Allele outsourced agencies."

Iris nodded, hooking up her tablet back to its deck and expanding the screen for network searches. Her hands moved so rapidly, her eyes shifted across the panels so quickly that Santana and the others learned a long time ago to not follow her and trust that Iris would get it done.

Santana shifted her attention back to the others. "Neil, leave four members on each team for night raids. Have each head of our teams—" It felt funny to call her brothers, sisters, cousins, whatever, as team and team leaders, not as families. Which they were. "Have them assemble a strategy, assuming the tactics they would undertake if there was a network point in their regions."

She didn't want to admit that while she could come up with a hundred scenarios, it was still always helpful to hear feedback. And sometimes, whether it was the numerous ways that their neurons were wired and rewired or whether there were smarter individuals (Santana wanted to accredit Allele, since it was hard to admit that there would be people naturally smarter than herself, who is rewired to be smarter).

"I don't know why Allele is expanding," she admitted, hating herself that she couldn't do _more_ for her family. It was up to her to be better, to be what they needed and right now, a jumble of thoughts kept her from thinking straight and logically. "But we need to be ready. For whatever shit this _Victoria Askobar_–" she mustered all the venom she could for the name of a woman she hated without knowing "–thinks she can pull."

Iris interjected, pausing from her work on her computer. "That's not it, though." She pulled up the two portraits again, one of Victoria Askobar and another of a man. The man didn't strike Santana as anything but ordinary. Ordinary face, ordinary eyes, ordinary expressions. "This is Andrew Greenfield."

Iris paused.

They waited for her to continue.

"I don't know what exactly he does," Iris admitted reluctantly. "But I know he's doing something. They're always together and not in that villains-in-love kind of way like in TV. I mean, they are up to some serious shit." She looked at Xion for back-up.

Xion nodded, "He has been seen around a lot and seems to be arranging some sort of operations. We've been tracking his outgoing messages which are always direct orders to locate, relocate, displace units. His locations are scattered but he always come back to Victoria." He pulled up a grainy image onto the projected screens. "This is an image from a few hours ago."

There were a few individuals, dressed in black, inconspicuous and… stiff. They stood straight, like soldiers. But mechanical. There wasn't a single flaw in their position. Andrew Greenfield seemed to be inspecting them one by one, his face brought close to . Xion continued as the others scrutinized the image, "He's gathering a network of people but none of these people have records in any of the databases. No fingerprints, no IDs, none of our programs can match their faces."

_Shit_, Santana thought as she felt the inklings of a not-so-good omen. _They're seriously fucking things up right now. _She spoke the rest of her thoughts aloud, "They wouldn't be so discreet unless Allele was doing something illegal –" _Besides their usual illegal crap._ "—if they're tracking across continents and we're finding new outsourced points of capital, Allele is pursuing a new source of financial support. Their funding from the government for stem cell research was cut three years ago and I've been rereading their financial reports, pulled straight out of their accountants' computers. They've been tanking but they are maintaining some of their essential medical operations." Everyone knew "medical" meant they were still experimenting around with peoples' genes, bodies, minds.

Santana shook her head, her dark locks of hair falling around her shoulders. Her hair spun with her when she turned to face the three expectant faces and spoke firmly, but not unkindly. "Continue to track Andrew Greenfield's movements, especially his contact record with Victoria. As Head of Human Capitals Operations, they are doing some sort of international export or import. If we can intercept that, we can disrupt it or turn it over for official investigations. Either way, it'll be helpful to stay on track with them for now."

The others nodded, watching Santana's mental gears churn. "We're going to need to alleviate some of our own loads. Neil, see if we can get any support on our end."

She turned to Xion, "Have you had any progress with the medication? Neil had a pretty bad spasm yesterday. Iris almost broke her wrist during yesterday's watch, even though she bounced back pretty quickly." Iris smiled and flexed her forearm to prove a point. Santana didn't need to mention her own ailments; they all knew how it took a concerning amount of time for her body to heal.

Xion shook his head, "I can only still develop our current medications. I'm testing a new combination for each of ours as soon as I get Jessica's medication finished and shipped to Costa Rica. A few on her team are sending reports and it sounds like they're getting better. And I'll be able to focus on ours but until then, I think we're just going to have to stick with this for a little bit."

Santana nodded, knowing how much Xion put into trying to fix their flaws. They felt their meeting drawing to a close, the conversation turning over to quiet clicks and swipes as they worked on their respective tablets and desktops. A hum of computers buzzed in the air, their minds focused on building a better and safer world, one save at a time. And the world continued on its mad and chaotic course while SNIX worked to keep it in balance.

* * *

Half an hour past midnight, Xion pulled Iris up from her seat, where she had been staring so intently at the screen that her nose was inching closer and closer till it almost touched. He swept her towards him and held her close, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other reaching for her hand. Iris tossed her head back, laughing at his immature ways of tickling her, his shaved skin of his jaw making her laugh as he nuzzled his face into her neck.

Santana watched endearingly while Neil rolled his chair over to her.

"God, they make me sick," Santana smiled as she joked.

"Watch it, S, your humanity is showing," Neil winked at her. They watched for a second before he cleared his throat and continued, "No, but seriously. Humanity. Showing."

Neil pointed to the top of the left shoulder, where there was a spot of blood soaking through the cream knit sweater. Santana groaned, "Damn it, I love this sweater, too…"

Neil laughed, dramatically sweeping an arm to his chest, "Ahhh, such is our life, m'dear! Slips, snaps, bruises, and cuts! The perils of our life!" He had been in in a Shakespeare play once in his life, adding fuel to his charm.

"You're such a dork," she muttered as she rubbed the bloodied spot with her finger, as though blood could come out so simply. Santana threw her hands up exasperatedly and looked back at Neil, whose eyes were suddenly serious and intense. His brows furrowed as he looked at her with concern, making his boyish face look more mature, if you ignored his tussled blond hair and dimples.

"What?"

"I heard about Quinn," Neil spoke softly, as though the name could pierce her. And it did; Santana visibly cringed at her name, aching at the thought of the blonde. "I'm really sorry; I know you struggled after you ended it in high school." He had his own share of heartbreak, having once believed in endless love, too. Everyone wants to believe in true and endless love and Santana thought she found it when she was seventeen, she believed it once, too. But they had learned that love was messy and painful, just like life. It took scrapes and falls but you bounced back, if you were lucky; if you weren't so lucky, you had a blackhole inside that pulled and tugged at every inch of your humanity. Santana and Neil were few of the unlucky ones. If she couldn't love and be loved, the next best thing was to be alone.

In a flash of a moment, in an accidental heartbeat years ago, they both lost a piece of themselves and never quite got it back. Neil, with his own set of scars, understood that.

He continued just as softly, "But I think maybe you should try again. It's been a very long time since you let someone in and we can't just watch other people be happy." He looked pointedly at Iris and Xion, pressed closely against each other, their faces grazing, strikingly Allele-beautiful as though to make a point.

Santana bit her lip, watching the two dance closely, wondering what it would have been like had she not left Quinn in Lima. _Would we have danced like that? Would we spend late mornings together and ditch work for brunch? _The trail of _what-if_s was blissfully interrupted with Neil's final argument:

"I know I would try if I had the chance at love again."

* * *

Santana adjusted the phone headset in her ear, trying to focus on what Brittany was saying and at the same time, trying to not listen. It was a losing battle. Hearing Quinn's reaction to her apology wasn't easy and it didn't help that Santana needed to submit her photographs to the agency for client review. Santana was grateful all she had to do was take pictures, not deal with the nit-picky clients themselves; in the end, she only heard the feedback in summary and went back to fix the minor details.

"Yeah, she seemed really upset," Brittany's voice came out sad and wistful, transparently sad for Quinn. She didn't need to be transparent, though, because Santana felt every degree of sadness that Quinn was reminiscing. And then some. Brittany continued, "I think she just needs time to get used to having you back in her life. It's like she got used to surviving without you and now she needs to make room. She just needed to let that anger out, you know? It's okay, Tana, it's going to be okay."

"Mmhmm," Santana couldn't muster the right response. "Yeah..." The prospect of "okay" wasn't too promising. What did she want? Did she want Quinn in her life? Did she want Quinn? Would she be willing to let go of Quinn again, even if it hurt because it was the best thing she could do for the person she once loved? Santana felt seventeen again, lost in her relationship problems and confusion of what and who she wanted, all over again. It was amazing, how one person could toss her world upside down.

The conversation came to a pause, mostly because Santana was stumbling to straighten her thoughts. Between worrying about the world and having dug herself into a very deep grave with Quinn, roots of her thoughts were tangling up like Christmas lights in her mind.

Not that it was an awkward pause. Awkward wasn't in Brittany's world; things simply were. Like now, it was just quiet, not awkwardly quiet.

But it wasn't quiet for Santana; the world was screaming around her and from inside of her.

Santana sighed frustrated, firmly shutting her laptop to take a break.

"Hey, B?" She stood, her spine making quiet cracks as she stretched her arms toward the ceiling.

"Mmm?"

"I'm going to go for a run." Even as she went through the roll of images, looking at the model she snapped only a few days ago, Santana could feel the impatient itch of movement in her feet already, anticipating the quiet silence of a run that left her blissfully exhausted. The ground would feel firm and steady beneath her, much unlike her world that seemed to never stop spinning.

Brittany understood that this was how Santana meditated and calmly pieced together her thoughts. "Okay, Tana. Be safe!" Santana smiled at Brittany's concern, touched by Brittany's words. She was always worried just the slightest about Santana, despite having shown how literally indestructible Santana could be.

"I always am, B." She paused, feeling the words bubble up to her throat before they escaped her mouth as both a question and a fact. "I'm going to make this right. You know that, right?"

"I know, Tana."

* * *

Santana leaned over to tie her shoelaces, her running shoes tangled by the neon laces.

Running was a curious sensation.

She could so easily sprint through, run around the world several times before the sun set. It would be so easy for her to sprint, to barely touch the ground as she fled through the world. Santana couldn't turn off Allele enhancements like a light switch but there was a point when she felt her humanity straining to breathe, her feet hurting, her lungs expanding and deflating, the muscles along her thighs and calves burning. This point existed just before her superhuman abilities took over, a point at which she felt most normal and human, instead of a amped-up Allele Frankenstein. In that state _just _before Allele overwhelmed her humanity, Santana ran in the glorious state of strain.

* * *

A hazy sun was setting on the coastline of Sahara, long shadows casted by the people who were walking, jogging, running. Quinn's blonde hair whipped around her as she sped ahead of a few, fell behind a few, and ran alongside a few.

This was when Quinn felt the most alive. Every step thundered clear awareness of her body. The burning in her thighs and calves, the searing inhale and exhale of breath as oxygen brushed along the insides of her lungs; she was more aware of her exhaustion, her weight, age, burdens when she felt gravity pull down on her rising feet. She was always aware of the stable relationship she shared with the earth.

And this is when she felt least alone. In the past years, she learned to be alone, mostly because she was forced into it. The absence of the girl who understood her best, who needed her, who gave herself to Quinn, cornered her into a place where Quinn never felt quite right. Even when she was with Rachel, or talking to Tina, there was always the sensation that she was still very much alone.

But running, alongside others, made her feel less alone. They were all running in their own direction, at their own speed but they shared the common pounding of the feet, the accelerated heartbeats, the understanding of how difficult it is to be left with your own thoughts on a run, the awareness of making the decision to get out the door. They were like rain drops, coming and going at different speeds but all falling to meet the earth.

But that's when she noticed. The painfully familiar scent of jasmine.

Another set of footsteps hit the pavement at the same rate, the same pace, with the same rigor of avoiding problems at an accelerated rate. The concentration of running and forgetting, matching her own. Dark eyes, punctured with hazel shards, looking at her with surprise as they met Quinn's.

_Santana_.

* * *

Each step rang out something Santana needed released. _Quinn. Eric. Quinn. Allele. Quinn._No matter how tired she felt, her thoughts returned relentlessly to...

And that's when she noticed, her dark eyes widening with recognition of the person she couldn't forget if she wanted to.

The blonde running beside her, sharing the same rigor and determination of running and forgetting, matching her own. _Quinn_.

_What is she doing here? _She saw recognition in the emerald eyes that met her own, their bodies weaving through the crowd of joggers, walkers, runners until they were running closely.

It struck Santana how matched Quinn was to her athleticism when she didn't step into the Allele-half of herself. The blonde carried herself weightlessly, gracefully, like each step shed some burden until she was as light as air. Santana ran lightly, her feet almost lifting off in her ecstasy. Except it wasn't ecstasy. It was the absence of grief, which was a drastic change in itself. That flutter in her heart, for once, felt good.

Quinn could hear Santana's breath, bringing back memories of touch, taste, sounds that had been pushed into the dark rooms in abandoned labyrinths of the mind. The touch of her skin, smooth and tangible as dreams could get. The sounds of pleasure, pain, exhaustion escaping those lips. The taste of Santana, the one that held the standard for all kisses and nights that followed her first love.

Each step was wordless but full of words in themselves.

Santana's steps begged, _please, please, please, _even though she didn't know exactly what she was begging of Quinn. With every step though, their bodies gravitated towards each other. _This feels familiar_, Quinn recollected the nights they would run together to the water tower a lifetime ago. Even though finding out about Santana, sharing nights with Santana, having Santana was years ago, Quinn could remember each detail, brought back more and more vividly as they ran.

"_You can't beat me," Santana panted as they sprinted towards the water tower. _

"_That's—what—you– think!" Quinn spat out between each breath. Cheerios was starting next week and it was absolutely necessary that the two head cheerleaders be in top shape. Hours of suicides, sprints, double-doubles, handstands, somersaults, flips lay ahead. Oh yeah, and Coach Sylvestor with enough malice to fuel the underworld. So they ran together, pushing themselves harder and harder but so closely matched that it was impossible to tell who won. _

"_Oh my god, okay, okay," Santana kneeled over when they reached the foot of the ladder up the water tower. "Worst idea ever. Let's never do this again." _

_Quinn laughed (or something like a strangled laughter came out as she still struggled for her breath). No matter how many times Santana said it, they always found themselves running together at night, always struggling to beat each other. Most people couldn't handle such a competitive friendship but that's not how they understood each other; their unique relationship pushed their capabilities, sharpening them to be the best, like whetstones to a blade. The night sky watched as they ran faster, running straight into the ladder of the water tower to stop themselves._

Even now, they felt the edge of competitiveness as they sprinted side by side, making the people around them wonder where they were headed. Quinn felt the weight of a hundred evenings they spent like this, running just like this: forgetting the world except for each other, the person running right beside them.

She would feel like hell tomorrow morning, sore body with the bruise of regret but Quinn didn't want the run to end, wanting to keep running together until she could figure out Santana, until she could figure out what she wanted from Santana. So she ran on. Santana didn't want the run to end, simply for a reason to stay with Quinn a moment longer. So they ran, much longer than they would have, until they reached the railings at the end of the harbor. Santana ran straight into railings, almost plummeting herself over but grabbing tightly onto the railings to keep herself from falling over; it seemed like the only way to stop was to crash into the thing standing in her way. _Dios, thank God for public safety rules and shit_, Santana gratefully squeezed the railings, as though they could feel her appreciation.

"There was this trail that no one knew about near my dorm. It winded up the side of the mountain that my college sat on. I couldn't sleep so I I'd run there at night, all the way to the top. It took so much energy, running uphill for hours by myself and most nights, it was so cold that I swear my hair was getting icy." Santana paused, staring at the sunset to not stare at the blonde. "And I'd watch the city at night, hours. You could see the moon's reflection on the ocean, that's how high up it was. And it made everything seem so small and far away. Insignificant, almost. Just like the way we used run to the water tower to remember that Lima was just one small city."

Santana looked over at the blonde who managed to stop a little more gracefully, Quinn's chest rising and falling as she took in deep breaths. The blonde's breath slowly simmered down as they stared at each other, their bodies burning with life and strain. The world quieted around them, blanketing the two with a silence.

Quinn looked back at Santana and spoke so quietly that Santana wasn't sure that the blonde was even speaking to her, "I used to run back in New York. There was one building, sixty-three stories high, and I'd run up the stairs once a week," she laughed so quietly. "It hurt like hell for days, every single time, but they never locked the roof access. The view was worth climbing for. It was my own water tower, my mountain top." It was a small and seemingly insignificant story, Quinn felt a little lighter, carrying less heartbreak with her by sharing a little bit of the life that Santana missed out on.

Quinn traced Santana's silhouette with her eyes, memorizing how her outline glowed with the sun behind her, a thin film of sweat glistening under the warm sun. The sea breeze touched their skin, cooling their bodies. Santana's hair was tied into a ponytail, just the way she used to when they ran. The sky was turning from a brilliant orange to a deep velvety purple, the sun creeping below the horizon, the same way it used to over the horizon of Lima when they ran together in high school. Somewhere, in this déjà vu, Quinn remembered: _we used to be friends before._ Before they fell in love, before Santana changed, before the world they knew shifted from beneath their feet. _Maybe we can at least be friends again_. Quinn never found someone who understood her like Santana, probably because she never encountered someone who had been so closely matched to her, understood her and fought alongside and against her. Santana was the closest.

Quinn gave Santana one curt nod and the smallest shadow of a smile before she turned and started a run back to her apartment. Seeds of forgiveness planted in her heart, finding a way to stand next to Santana without slapping her. Running with her lent her the exhaustion that kept her from losing control, from both slapping her and throwing herself into Santana's arms.

And as Santana watched the blonde run away, the flash of her small smile embedded in Santana's mind, she considered how she had never quite heard such an eloquent and beautiful silence as that of forgiveness, wrapped in the faint trail of jasmine.

* * *

The phone woke Santana from her reverie, who stared out the window from her loft, thinking of Quinn; it was empty here tonight, for a change. In the empty silence of her loft, she replayed the afternoon run over and over and over in her mind. She thought of the box tucked away in her bedroom, the truths pinned onto sheets of paper. Just as she recounted the words, she saw that Eric was dialing in from France.

"Hey, little brother!" Santana sounded a little too perky but she could care less. So what if she was a teeny-tiny excited inside?

Eric didn't seem to notice. "_Hi, Tana! Guess what!_" He seemed too excited to actually wait for her to respond. "_There's this girl I met here, a few days ago. I never asked anyone out but I finally asked her! And I took her to dinner! And we walked by the lake! And at the end of the night, I kissed her!_" Each of his sentences was punctured with his excitement. "_Her name is Lauren and she's…."_

Santana smiled endearingly at her little brother's first encounter with love, while thinking of the first and only girl she ever loved.

* * *

_Hey, all!_

_So it was just Thanksgiving here last week and I wanted to really thank you guys for encouraging me to write and continue this story. It's been a lot of fun for me and you all have been so sweet and patient. Best readers ever, from the bottom of my heart._

_Leave some love and reviews! Hopefully, as soon as school starts to dwindle down, I'll be able to reveal more of the story Happy reading, dear readers._

**_C._**


	27. II: Love More, Hurt Less

**II: Love More, Hurt Less**

* * *

Quinn glanced at the small digital clock behind Tessa. Their time was almost up but she felt like Tessa wanted to share something else. Quinn technically didn't _have _to be anywhere but there was something she looked forward to doing everyday, without really thinking about it, really. Until now, of course. Now that she was being held behind in her office, the desire to get to her unofficial appointment swelled in her chest, the fear of missing it clawing at her insides. At the same time, Tessa had been so closed up about herself despite these weekly sessions with Quinn that Quinn wanted to stay if it meant she would open up a little bit more. The girl looked so small and fragile for a change, completely unlike the confident and almost arrogant demeanor she usually walked into the office with. Quinn would have felt impatient if it weren't for the way Tessa clearly sat in front of her: defeated.

Quinn waited patiently. This was usually a waiting game. No one ever wanted to admit that they had something to say because it would invite a chance to let someone in, only to learn that they didn't like the real you. But in the end, everyone wanted someone to listen, and in an ideal world, understand their thoughts. Quinn wanted to provide that space, be the person who could hold someone's thoughts delicately and tenderly. Each piece any patient shared was like a peach, fragile and vulnerable for bruises on its soft undersides but if Quinn could gather enough of them, she imagined the orchard they could build together. It was a cheesy thought but that's the metaphor she had in her mind.

So she waited.

Tessa took in a shaky breath, making Quinn itch to ask what was on her mind. But this was a waiting game. "So my parents are leaving for awhile, on some business trip, I think."

Tessa leaned forward, shifted around, like she couldn't get comfortable despite the incredibly plush and expensive couch she was sitting on.

"And I feel like sometimes, I'm more of an inconvenience for them. Like I'm in the way of their perfect life and perfect careers. It's not something you can really tell your friends, you know?" Tessa looked out the window. "Like we'll talk about movies, people we like or hate, whatever. And it sucks because what's the point then? If you have to pretend with your friends, who are you supposed to be real with?"

Tessa's young face looked haunted by grown-up problems. It takes a lifetime to learn who your real friends are, who you can come to at the end of the day. Quinn was lucky to have had them so early in her own life to make that distinction.

* * *

Santana laced up her shoes a little too tightly, forgetting how strongly she was pulling on the neon laces as the highlight of her day ticked closer. She jumped up and down a few times, trying to tire out the relentless butterflies in her stomach that were brewing up a storm of excitement. The setting California sun was warm on her face, the breeze was cool without being chilly. She paced around, inhaling the salty air.

Quinn was usually here by now. By some unspoken agreement, they met here most days of this past week, by the harbor, and ran together silently for as long as they could, reveling in each other's presence without having to admit they missed sharing time and space together. Santana always ran into the railing as a way of stopping herself; Quinn always stopped more gracefully. With their lungs and legs burning, they would take in a silent moment together until Santana mustered enough courage to break their silence with something seemingly small about herself, something Quinn didn't know about Santana. How standing behind a camera made her feel. The kind of person her older sister was. Neil's newest marketing client.

And Quinn gave stories back. A patient who proposed to her almost every week while she volunteered at the local hospital a few years back. The loft that she shared with Rachel for awhile. How she walked faster in New York than compared to here in Sahara. They grew to know each other with caution and hesitation.

But she wasn't here today. Santana glanced at the quickly disappearing sun, crestfallen.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and even though she knew that Quinn wouldn't call her (how could she? She doubted that Quinn even knew her number), she felt her heart rise with hope before her heart plummeted by back down.

"Eric, are you okay?" Santana answered her phone as she turned away from the sun, disappointment written across her face.

"_Yeah, yeah_," the melodic lilt of his voice floated across. Eric sounded happy. "_I was wondering if you guys were maybe free sometime to join me and Lauren for dinner._" He quickly reassured her thought before she voiced it, "_She doesn't know anything about Allele and stuff but I'd like you guys to meet her anyway._"

Santana smiled a little, touched by how quickly Eric found someone to be love and be loved by. "Of course, I'll ask them if they're free anytime soon. How's everything else?"

"_It's really good here. I'm getting comfortable here, finally. I have friends. My job is great – who knew tech companies have such a sweet set-up? Nightly raids give me something to do when I can't sleep. And of course, there's Lauren._" She heard the smile in his voice.

"Your humanity is showing," she teased lightly, making Eric laugh.

"_Ah, well, she's worth my humanity._" Eric sounded proud, despite the tease. He was lucky to have found something good so quickly. "_You know?_"

The feeling was familiar to Santana. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Just make sure to —"

"Hey." A hesitant voice, unexpectedly raspy, interrupted Santana's sentence. Santana spun to find Quinn, standing in her running gear. The sea breeze stung the blonde's eyes, making her eyes sparkle like jewels under a thin film of tears. The brunette looked a little surprised; she hadn't heard Quinn speak. They always ran so silently.

"Uh, Eric," Santana didn't take her eyes off the blonde, who watched her carefully. "Let me call you back, yeah? We'll... uh... talk about that dinner with you and Lauren soon."

"_Don't tell me you're actually dating that yoga instructor. Really, you know you can do better. And that girl -_"

"Goodbye, kiddo," she smiled at his remarks, snapping her phone shut to return to Quinn, never once breaking their eye contact. "Hi."

"Ready?" Quinn turned and began to run without warning. Santana, thrown off by Quinn's voice, took a moment before she went after her.

Step by step, breath by breath, they ran together. The edge of competitiveness in their run faded away sometime in the past week of running together, without any real acknowledgement. It wasn't for exercise, though it helped, or for the need to move anymore. In their run together, they weren't just side by side but they were actually together, creating their own void, the vacuum in which nothing else existed but each other's moving muscles and escaping breath. The reason to run wasn't to beat each other but to be _with_each other.

Quinn felt alive in a whole new sense. When she ran with Santana, she felt the single-minded concentration that could have drilled holes in any obstruction, focusing all of her energies on every detail. Each puff of breath that escaped Santana's lips, the thin beads of sweat, her eyes glistening in face of the sun, the smooth caramel tones of her skin, her long black hair whipping around her. Even the way her neon laces hit the ground every so often.

But if you asked Santana what she thought about, she couldn't tell you. Her thoughts passed like the clouds, coming and going as temporary guests of the sky. All she knew was the feeling of exhilaration that bubbled in her stomach, and extended through her fingertips. It was exhausting and nourishing, not having to think for a change and having all her answers running right next to her. From behind Quinn, Santana stretched out a hand and with a light finger, she touched the fleeting girl ever so slightly, the brush of her fingers kissing Quinn's skin.

* * *

_Today feels different_, Santana realized. And she knew it wasn't just a feeling when Quinn spoke first after their run, the second after they stopped and inhaled enough oxygen to draw out words. Just as Santana was about to speak-

"I went to this theme park a few years ago," Quinn breathed out the words quietly as though she was admitting a secret. Maybe it was Tessa and her ideas of being real with people that made Quinn speak first. _We used to be real with each other once upon a time_, Quinn remembered. She felt the need to be real, feeling courageous for a change. "We got on this rollercoaster, The Revolution. It went so high, this rickety old thing."

Santana turned a little to see Quinn leaning on the railing out of the peripheries of her eyes. The blonde stared at the setting sun so intently, the curtain of her blonde hair lit up like fire. She waited.

"God, I was so scared going up," she laughed softly, tucking a strand of blonde hair. She stared at the sunset, unwilling and unable to look at Santana as she spoke. "When we rode up, you could hear this clacking as it climbed up like it was about to break any second. I heard they put a mannequin dressed as a mechanic every week just to make people more nervous and it worked 'cause I was so scared it would break any second. You could everyone's laughter and screams so far away as we went up." She held onto the railings as she leaned back and raised her gaze to the sky, bending almost backwards. "When we got to the top, I held my breath. And then it plummeted down."

"And I didn't scream like everyone else because when everyone else was scared, I remembered what it felt like to be that high with you. It always felt safe, even if I wasn't buckled in to some metal car. It felt free when you carried me."

The blonde shifted her weight slightly, rocking onto her heels like she was going to run. "And I thought that years passing would help but in that moment, that one second of weightlessness just before we fell, it made me miss you, even after all those years apart, from so many miles away."

Santana turned at the words, only to find the blonde already running away, the long shadows casted in front of her. In her ears, she only heard her own pulse of unfinished business.

* * *

Neil sprinted forward and spun to jam his elbow in the face obscured by a ski mask, eliciting a groan. The armed burglar staggered backwards, holding his nose with one hand. He used his other hand to swing a knife wildly at Neil, who bolted from one side to another, too fast to be seen. He was practically toying with the last standing man, the limp bodies of unconscious men piled up around them, the stench of gunpowder and blood mixed in the air.

"The po-po are coming," Santana commented dryly, leaning on the wall, as the blue and red siren lights lit up Iris and Xion's amused faces. "Let's go, they can deal with the paperwork of criminals."

Neil glanced back, nodding at her words. He turned back towards the man, the blood pouring out of his nose, now most likely broken. "I won't kill the messenger but do tell your little ringleader not to be raiding banks as your little initiation process. It makes it incredibly inconvenient, mainly for you."

The man nodded frantically. Neil smiled, almost too kindly considering the situation, and in one swift movement, knocked out the man with a blow to the side of his head.

"Let's go," Santana pulled the hood of her red jacket over her head, practically scaling up the walls as they climbed out. Iris and Xion followed in suit, tugging their red and blue jackets to obscure their faces. Neil gently lifted the body and placed it next to the others; he liked to make it as easy as possible for the police, out of respect. He covered the view of his face with the hood of his deep blue jacket, stretched across his chiseled upper body. They mainly disabled their victims, rather than killing. Thugs were always sons, daughters, siblings, parents, friends to someone, though it was hard to believe sometimes. SNIX wasn't in the business of taking away the beloved if they could help it. Santana looked back once, inspecting their handiwork, before she slipped out.

Santana leaped across the walls, using the traction to scale up; their feet barely grazed the brick wall, blurring into a red mesh as they sped up. Their shadows could hardly catch up as they nimbly pulled themselves over the rooftop ledge. SNIX crouched at the rooftop, peering over the ledge to confirm that the police could safely take on the perpetrators. They could hear the static of the scanner - "_11-99 safely disarmed in the zzt zzt - west bay area. zzt suspects zzt."_

As they watched the police finish up what SNIX started, Santana quietly murmured, "Don't play too much with your food next time, Neil."

"Just sharpening my claws but alright, boss," Neil submitted. Iris and Xion smirked at his obedience, their smiles barely visible under their hoods. They listened to Santana without hesitation, pride put aside for the sake of good; it was pretty much given that she knew best, having led the group for so long. Still, it was funny to see a six-foot-three man obey such a petite girl. She stood up, perking her ears at the sound of chaos below.

"We'll split up. Saturday nights are just invitations for crime anyway. Keep your headset on," Santana directed, putting on her own headset, a small device tucked into their ears that kept them in contact with each other through a secure line. "Anyone need a partner?"

They shook their heads. Their medications have been working well enough to handle their own.

"I'm going to take a run to East Coast, six major 459, sixteen 505, three code purple," Santana could hear their cries. Iris and Neil were already facing south where they could hear the chaos of a building on fire. Neil was crouched, ready to blast in the direction of 10851, auto theft and 417, person with a gun. "We'll meet back at Neil's at 0100 hours."

They nodded before splitting, the explosion of red and blue as they followed the call of sirens and cries. A flash of blue headed southwest. A red blur zoomed south east. Another flash of red bolted northeast. And the last blue streamed along the west coast.

* * *

"Ahhhhh," Iris sighed as she cat-stretched across Neil's sofa. "I think I hold the record number of crimes tonight! Gents and lady, bow to me!" She wriggled on the soft surface, taking in the delicious feel of exhaustion.

Xion pounced on her, grabbing her around the ribs as the two bounced off the couch and rolled across the vast space of Neil's living room like two cubs fighting. Xion pinned her to the ground, his two palms pressing against the outer edges of her shoulders. He taunted her, in good nature, "I highly doubt it."

Iris swiftly snapped the knife-edge of her hands against the insides of his elbows, making him buckle. Just as he was about to fall onto her, she rolled nimbly out from under him and pinned him to the floor, declaring, "Forty-three." Xion growled at the number she clearly beat him with.

Neil jumped at them, Iris and Xion collapsing under his weight. "What did I say about scuffing my floors?" He sat on top of Iris, who collapsed onto Xion, creating a series of groans.

Santana laughed at the sight of them. They showed love like tigers, fiercely, competitively, but whole-heartedly. They wrestled, spending the remainder of their energies on a less-than-serious battle.

"Okay, okay," Xion panted, shoving Neil off of his chest. "Gerroffme, you weigh like a thousand pounds."

"A thousand pounds of awesome, you mean," Neil winked at Santana, while Iris rolled her eyes until Xion shook her off of his legs and she rolled to lay right beside him.

"Agenda, miss?" Iris asked sweetly, looking up at Santana with her chin perched on the pads of her hands.

Santana grinned, "Not much, kiddos. Forgive me for not joining because I know I'll brutally kick your asses-" Xion's quiet scoff interrupted her words. "-but Eric invited us to meet his girlfriend."

Neil clapped his hands, "My boy got a girl damn quick!"

He flinched when Iris punched him, who clipped, "Don't be so crude!" Iris crouched like she was about jump him when Santana interjected.

"Let's not scuff his floors," Santana teased, mocking Neil's OCD-like tendencies of orderliness in his home. "Anyway, I'm going to send an email out with your confirmation so stay on that. What else? It was a good night for us all, eh?" They nodded. "Xion, any news on the medical front?"

"Ah, yes," Xion stood up and brushed his pants, trying to regain some of his lost dignity. "So for the most part, Neil's medication is near completion at the lab which means we can finish off Allele for good." Neil whooped. "But... Santana, I think I can find a more permanent solution and I know I keep saying I'm close but seriously, I think I am. At the same time, I'm going to have to push your issues to the forefront because I have a feeling the effect of your medication is wearing off. I don't want you collapsing halfway across the world and not have us know where you are."

Iris muttered, "'Cause real shit's gonna go down if I can't find you."

Santana smirked, "Aren't you just sweet?" She waved her hand dismissively, "Don't worry, I'm doing just fine, thank you very much."

Xion nodded, "Okay but that's all for me."

Iris curtly finished off, "Computer is processing the encryption codes on two hard drives we swiped earlier today. The data on there may be worth it; we'll have to see."

"Alright, then, I'm out; I think I want to sleep," Santana concluded, her arms wrapping around her ribs, hands pressed into them. All three whipped around to give Santana a concern. It's not that they couldn't sleep but they didn't really need to. They managed to be excellent from one night's of good rest, though Neil insisted he needed more. After the rollercoaster of a week she had, Santana felt exhaustion tugging at her body. Santana reassured them, "I haven't slept for like, a week. I'm way overdue." She waved a hand dismissively, "Stop worrying so much, damn. All the sentiment is suffocating me."

Iris glared, suspicious but willing to let it go. "Alright, well, we should head out, too."

Xion held Iris' jacket up as she pulled her arms through the sleeves, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Neil, on the other hand, shook off his own blue jacket, getting ready to crunch some numbers for his marketing meeting in the morning. Santana observed quietly as they all reeled inwardly, mentally listing the things they knew they had to do. Granted, she was young and death was probably a long way off (if anything, Allele probably extended their lives) but her mortality crossed her mind every so often and it comforted her to know that the three of them could manage their operations without her, if the day came someday when she wasn't around.

* * *

In her own apartment, Santana held her warm cup of tea closely to her chest with one hand as she looked out the windows. Her other arm, though, was wrapped closely around her ribcage, like before. Thank God that Allele didn't implant x-ray microchips in their eyes because she knew her siblings would have flipped if they saw the splatter of bruises, a medley of blue, purple, black, green and yellow, dispersed across her skin.

When she looked out them, all she could see was the image of Quinn running away from her. Her heart ached like her body, pervasively and everywhere. She wanted so badly to call out to her. Every heartbeat reverberated with the painful desire to be close to her, even if as only a friend because it meant that Quinn was in her life, and that was better than the dark nothingness of Quinn's absence and the plague of what-ifs that was the symptom of her absence. So this ache was the same ache of being overexcited, of wanting so much, of loving too hard. These were reminders of Quinn that never left, the tumultuous emotions of excitement and fear, anxiety and desire.

And then she pressed her fingers gently into the bruises that were slowly but surely healing, wincing at the twinge of pain that shot through her entire body at the touch. She sighed, recalling the bullet that tore through her right lung, the blow of metal some knucklehead struck her with, the graze of a knife just under her ribcage, realizing how love was always pain but pain was not always love.

* * *

Quinn felt a lot of things over the years, letting it build up inside. The term, bottling up your emotions, resonated with Quinn. She knew what it was like, to be the glass bottle that held in everything. Her body was the fragile glass with those emotions crammed and pressed up against the frail glass walls of her body. And tonight, even as Brittany drove her to a new gem in Sahara, emotions from telling Santana that she had missed her brought up all the what-ifs and maybes, all the haunting thoughts she ever had of the girl she once loved pressed against the glass walls of her mind, the quiet cracks in the glass almost audible to her.

It had been two days since she admitted missing Santana.

Brittany parked the car, the jolting movement waking Quinn from her thoughts.

"You'll love Mosaic, Quinnie," Brittany bubbled as she stepped out of the car. She offered Quinn, who was in the process of getting out of Brittany's car. Quinn smiled gratefully and let the dancer pull her out in one, graceful sweep. "San—um, my friend brought me here a few years back and I just never stopped coming." She grinned excitedly as she waved her arms around, trying to explain excitedly. "It's such a good mix of people, regulars, photographers, artists, dancers."

Quinn shivered in the cold coastal breeze of the night, wrapping her jacket tighter around her. Brittany turned from the busy city street into a random alleyway. Quinn hesitated at the entrance of the alleyway before she sputtered, "Uh—Britt, is this where you're going to kill me?" _This is definitely a murder scene from CSI, _Quinn was convinced.

The alleyway was dim, empty except for a few doorways, half-hidden since they were a few steps below street level. Shadows obscured anything from being seen. If Brittany planned to kill her, this would be a good place to do it.

But Brittany laughed at Quinn's uncertainty, the skeptical girls' eyes growing wide enough for the green and hazel in her eyes to catch the moonlight. Quinn faltered before following Brittany into the alleyway. The blonde bounced down a few stairs to stop by red double-doors, hidden from street view and waited for Quinn to slowly make her way. The grin on her face put Quinn a little at ease just as Brittany turned the knob and let the doors swing open.

It revealed a lounge with richly colored walls, dimly-lit with candles and tinted lamps. A palette of bold colors, emerald, jade, sapphire, ruby red, amber, took up space. Quiet conversations and laughter floated around the wide cream-colored marble bar, mixing with the music. Framed photographs, portraits and art pieces lined the walls. A single spotlight shined on a dark cherrywood stage, where a man in jaunty fedora hat leaned into his saxophone and added to the sultriness of the atmosphere.

"It's a fantastic underground wine bar and because they're all artists, they put on amazing shows. Sometimes, they have live painting shows. Sometimes, people sing. Poets and –" Brittany went on about the list of people that ventured here while Quinn peered around curiously.

A squeal came from somewhere before something tiny hurled itself onto Brittany, mid-sentence. Brittany burst out in laughter to find her petite co-dancer jumped onto her, just as a small crowd came over.

"Hey, B!"  
"Britts!"  
"'Bout time, blondie! Where you been?"  
"Beeee!"

People tousled her hair, guys reached in for the very-appropriate one-armed hug, while the girls didn't restrain themselves from fully embracing her.

"Hey! Hey!" Brittany called out from the crowd while pulling Quinn's arm to drag her into the middle. "This is Quinn! She's from Lima, Ohio!"

The crowd roared, "Ohio!"

Quinn laughed and asked discreetly, "Are any of these people from Ohio?"

Brittany giggled and shook her head as she wriggled out of her jacket. "They just do that 'cause no one is from where they are, usually." It made her feel a little bit at home in this new city.

Quinn chuckled and shook off her own coat to reveal the form-fitting dress underneath. A few heads turned to watch the svelte figure, covered by black fabric that moved like dark liquid against her creamy skin. A sliver of bare skin showed across the dip of her back, transforming the dress into something hypnotizing and subtly seductive.

Brittany winked at the sight of her dress, making Quinn blush and wonder if her dress was overboard. "Johnny," she called out to the guy behind the counter. "Two glasses of Hamilton sauvignon blancs." He brought up two wine glasses to fill with translucent wine. Brittany brought the two glasses over to Quinn, placing one in her hands. The glass felt cool against the touch of her skin. The same girl who had jumped onto Brittany started talking about their upcoming dance tour. Johnny lingered by Quinn, as if making his move on her.

But Quinn quickly moved away, taking the opportunity to look at the art on the walls, the warm tones of the music moving with her as she walked. Glances were thrown her way but Quinn could care less.

* * *

"You need to get out. Xion and Neil said they want to do a run tonight anyway," Iris spilled out every reason that justified why Iris was dragging Santana to Mosaic. "I need a drink. You need a drink. I have this dress. And seriously, if you're not going to get with that yoga instructor or do something about Quinn, like talk to her, you need to be in a place that has people who will at least appreciate that dress on you."

Santana smirked, "I know I look good. You don't gotta tell me." With a sassy flip of her long black hair and a feisty walk, she flaunted her figure obscured under the thick wool coat. The tail of her high-low, wine-red lace dress swept around her as she walked into the mouth of the darkened alleyway.

"God, they really should consider changing their entrance," Iris muttered, suspiciously casting her eyes around. "I mean, walking here is like begging to get mugged. Which on that note, please tell me you took your meds." Iris rolled her eyes as she drawled sarcastically, "You know, in case some crazy decides to take advantage of this perfect mugging zone."

Santana shrugged, "A few days ago. I assessed the situation already anyway and I should be fine through the night. It's not like we're going to go out and stop a train with our barehands or anything. I'll take them tomorrow." She dismissed the thought of her bruises hidden by the dress. It would only worry Iris and they were healing anyway, just more slowly than usual.

Iris frowned but didn't stop her sister to scold her as Santana climbed down the steps to a pair of red double doors. The doors swept open, conversations momentarily pausing as Santana and Iris entered the room. They were regulars but the stares came from their fiercely striking looks coupled with their dresses. Iris wore the indigo dress that she loved so much, a subtle sparkle that casted a slightly blue tint in her hair. She was one of those rare fair-skinned Filipino girls, like Allele was trying to cram every commercially desirable trait in one girl. Between her creamy skin and that dark blue moving against her skin, there wasn't much more she needed to have a head-turning, walk-stopping effect on crowds.

Santana didn't, either. In a high-low, deep burgundy dress, Santana's skin gave the same effect of the rich colors around her: a sense of fulfillment and an involuntary sigh when you looked at her. Her dark hair cascaded down her backside, swaying slightly with each step. Her hips, her slender legs, the blades of her shoulders gave the impression of a cat, moving so swiftly and smoothly, it was as though she was floating.

She tried to look as confident as she was pretending to be. Stares were not unusual and normally, they complimented her but tonight, it felt dirty and…with every step, Santana felt the desire for only one pair of eyes to be looking at her reverberate throughout her body and God knows where in Sahara that blonde was. Santana momentarily paused, swept up in her thoughts.

Catching the distraught expression fleeting across on Santana's face, Iris snaked her arm around Santana's waist, holding her protectively. When Johnny, the bartender, came with a wink and two glasses of clear white wine sloshing in the wine glasses, Iris drew her even closer. Iris narrowed her eyes at Johnny, who seemed sleazy in her tingly senses despite what every girl in the bar said. The wine caught the hazy candlelight and bounced fractured light like diamonds onto the burgundy of her dress.

Santana sipped the wine, letting the taste of grape sink into her tongue, the acidity warming her throat. Johnny launched into an in-depth analysis of why Santana would like this particular wine, something about how the grapes were grown by citrus plants that…. And then Iris lost interest before Johnny even finished his sentence. It might have been also because something about him always irritated her. He hung around Santana all the time whenever they walked in and sorry, but no one like _Johnny _was good enough for her baby sister. Tonight, Santana clearly needed the distraction so she let Johnny revel in a moment of Santana's attention.

Iris wandered away, gravitating towards the line of art on the walls. _I need one of these…_Iris mused over a particular canvas art she had her eye on for awhile. Painted entirely with red wine, the art threw wide strokes of red, burgundy, maroon, and a splash of ruby on there.

"Hi, Iris, right?"

Iris turned to find the stunning face of Oceanside Wellness, looking back at her. Quinn Fabray, in the flesh, covered by a tasteful black dress that moved so well against her body. Quinn had a hint of make-up, her green eyes emphasized to have a head-turning effect.

"Quinn Fabray!"Iris smiled, happy to have a chance to talk to the woman that Santana spoke so highly of. Or rather, didn't speak of, which meant she thought highly of this woman. It made Iris all the more curious. She felt the matchmaker in her itching to reach out and just throw Santana at Quinn. Or Quinn at Santana. It really didn't matter how it happened, as long as they ended up tangled together. "You found the gem of the city!" Iris smiled kindly. "How are you? How is Sahara treating you? I hope Xion is being a gentleman towards his new colleague."

The blonde felt reassured by Iris' genuine smile. "He's been really helpful, teaching me the ropes of the office, like where the receptionist keeps the good tea and where they put all the extra notepads. The closest place to get a morning bagel," she laughed. "And yes, my friend used that exact phrase to describe Mosaic. 'Gem of the city.' Small world, huh?" Quinn took a sip of the wine, warming up to the woman.

Iris chuckled, "It's definitely a great place to unwind. I used to come here all the time when I first got here, right after I found out one of my favorite singers played impromptu concerts here. I definitely fan-girled my heart out for him, enough to make Xion still jealous!" She laughed easily at herself, her confidence so comforting to Quinn.

"I've done the same, no shame," Quinn laughed, completely understanding. The liquid sloshed around the bowl of her wineglass as she laughed. "I had a rather extreme Mat Kearney phase when I was in high school, although I'll absolutely deny it if you tell anyone."

"Iris!" A blonde blur half-tackled Iris before she could finish her thought. The body hugging her radiated warmth and excitement as words bubbled from her mouth into Iris's ears, "You came! I haven't seen you for so long!"

Iris laughed as she pulled back to peck Brittany on her cheek. "Brittany, it's so good to see you. It's only been two days but you know we miss you around the house. Xion was asking when you'd swing by next." She smiled warmly at the bubbly girl and tucked a strand of blond hair that came loose, probably in the midst of tackling Iris.

"This is Iris. Iris is…" Brittany's voice wandered off, unsure of how to put this delicately. Or even bring it up. How do you tell your friend that her heartbreaker had a long-lost sort-of genetically engineered sister who pretty much ran global operations to save the world from itself on a nightly basis? And her heartbreaker's sort-of brother who is Quinn's co-worker apparently is also the genetically-engineered boyfriend of the long lost, sort-of genetically engineered sister?

But they were nice, if that counted for anything.

"No worries, Britts," Iris placed a hand reassuringly on Brittany's arm. "Xion introduced us awhile back."

"Oh," Brittany let out with relief. "Okay, then."

"We were just talking about our tendencies to love too hard when it came to art and music," Iris winked at Quinn.

"Ugh, but sometimes the things you consider art is just not art, Iris. I remember you dragged me and Tana to that monologue," Brittany groaned. "Just because they're gorgeous doesn't mean it's okay to watch a guy talk for three hours about his opinion of menstrual cycles."

"But he was just _soooo _pretty, Britts," Iris laughed as she bumped her hips with Brittany. "And you have to admit–"

"I can't believe you just let him hold me hostage like that," an irritated voice cut through the pause in the conversation, a hand landing on Iris' arm. "He went on about _grapes_, of all things, Iris. Do you know how long a conversation about _grapes_can go?!"

All three women turned towards the irritated voice to find... Santana, wine in the glass reflective of the wine-colored dress wrapping her slim figure. Her dark eyes went from irritated to surprised in less than a few seconds as her eyes found its way to Quinn. That trembling feeling she felt just below her diaphragm, her sweaty palms, the way her thoughts halted abruptly.

* * *

Quinn held her ribcage tightly, trying not to laugh too loudly and doing her best to hold it together. Brittany, clearly, could care less; her laughter burst like a canon, hitting every corner in the room. Iris smirked a smirk very much like Santana's, their beautiful faces so alike while so vastly different.

Quinn caught her breath, fanning her face with her hand. The room had gotten so warm, their cheeks flushed with heat and wine. Once in a while, Johnny would try to join the conversation but Iris quickly shut down his advances quickly, protective of her girls under her wing (figuratively speaking, of course), which now included Quinn. The blonde felt welcomed, quickly included in the tight-knit circle.

Iris noted the way Santana's eyes sparkled, the hazel shards shining more brightly than usual. She noted Santana's lingering gaze, the wine making her cast any caution to the wind. How Santana almost fell backwards as she laughed but reached out for the hand closest to her, Quinn's hand, and quickly let go after steadying herself.

And the way Quinn stared when Santana turned her face away. The small smile on her lips when Santana squeezed her hand, the slightly crestfallen face when Santana let go of her hand. When she caught Santana looking at her blatantly, she casted her emerald eyes back at the glass of wine.

"I need to get some air," Quinn stood up, reaching for her clutch. "It's so warm in here. I'll be back."

Iris looked at Santana pointedly, as if to say, "_Go with her!"_Santana looked startled at the ferocity of her older sister's glare.

"Umm, I'll go with you," Santana stuttered, still looking back at Iris. "I need some air, too. Too much wine." She drank only a half a glass of wine, which she took with her, along with her purse.

Brittany and Iris watched as the two women nearly float out the door.

* * *

Quinn giggled, the wine making her almost giddy and much more forgiving, holding onto Santana's arm as she stepped out in the alleyway. Santana let her, the few sips of wine making her braver than she would have been otherwise.

"Ahh," Quinn sighed. "Fresh air." It reeked of city, the smell of car exhaust and rotting garbage. Santana laughed at Quinn, who noticed the city smell in the alleyway before she continued, "Well, sort of. It's no Lima but it's a hell of a lot cleaner than New York."

"I know, New York was just rank with urine and shit," Santana laughed nervously. It seemed impossible that their bodies were only a few feet apart. It seemed impossible that Quinn was here. Even more, it seemed impossible that Quinn was laughing, freely. All Santana could think was Mercedes' voice, from so long ago, singing, "_Blame it on the alcohol, blame it on the alcohol._" The wine may have made Quinn more forgiving but it had a different effect on Santana; everything she felt was heightened. Right now, the guilt that she carried with her snowballed into a full avalanche of regret and remorse.

Her dark eyes, lit only by almost-visible streaks of hazel and glimmer of moonlight, couldn't look at Quinn. Not in the face. To look into the eyes would be too much for Santana. There was only so much guilt she could take so she looked at the ground, the black straps of Quinn's heels, the curve of her figure that was cloaked with a black liquid dress, up to the blonde hair that fell around her shoulders, unable to look directly at any part of Quinn.

Except those lips.

She stared at Quinn's lips, unable and unwilling to look higher to meet those green eyes. Being disoriented by Quinn's sudden appearance in her life had helped obscure the truth in the blonde's eyes; right now, her head was clearer than ever and Santana couldn't bring herself to face the truth of what she did, albeit ten years ago. Those lips, a touch of pink, was enough of Quinn to make Santana look at what she did and just enough to keep her from running away.

So she stared at the lips she wanted to lightly graze with a finger and spoke to those lips, releasing the words before the courage slipped away.

"I was dying," Santana cleared her throat. "I mean, not in that existential way, that we're all always dying but like, literally, in high school, I was slowly dying."

Quinn looked perplexed at the sudden shift in the mood.

Santana continued to explain, "Lara had told me my heart had an expiration date."

"You didn't say anything. You never told me," Quinn accused quietly, her stare burning into Santana. The brunette felt her green eyes look at her, even as she continued to stare at Quinn's lips.

"You know how when we were kids, it seemed like we were invincible?" Santana smiled at her wine cup, remembering the days that she and Quinn would stalk the halls of McKinley High, high off of their power. "What I discovered, especially with what I do now, is that people are so vulnerable. Humans are just fleshy bodies, so easily punctured, so easily crushed." Santana could recall the feel of bones breaking, skins splitting, the light dimming in the eyes of dying people. "And I'm no different. I'm just vulnerable and broken in a different way."

"It was the day she died," Santana sighed, looking at her cup. "I guess…." Pause. "I guess I already knew I had to leave a long time before I did. And we were so happy then." Tears welled in the back of Santana's eyes, giving her a dull headache. "So happy, Q, and I thought I had no time left to be happy. And I wanted that little time we had."

Quinn stood still, trying to process Santana's words. It was overwhelming to think that in those last weeks together, when Quinn woke up with her head pressed against Santana's chest, when Quinn held Santana in her arms, when they read on the opposite ends of the sofa with only their legs intertwined, Santana was dying. Quinn wondered what it would have been like, to have lost Santana to death than for Santana to have walked out. _It would have killed me,_ Quinn realized bitterly. At the time, she had let the brunette become her whole world.

"I'm sorry."

Santana's words came out softly but heavily loaded with wistfulness. Santana shoved every ounce of regret that accumulated over a decade and all the sadness that clung onto the regret into a two-worded apology. But it was relieving, to say these words – Santana had lost sight of the grief she caused when she drowned in her own. Innocent people were always hurt in conflict, Santana had learned, and in her fight against Allele, Quinn had been collateral damage.

"It wasn't your decision to make," Quinn clipped coldly. She inhaled to speak but paused, trying to get down to what was really on her mind. From where she stood, the blonde could see the changes. Santana walked with a newfound confidence but there were still cracks in her being, a brokenness that seemed noble and sad. These were the moments Quinn resented her own intuition. Most times, it helped in her line of work but tonight, it laid all of Santana's burdens bare for Quinn to see, just as she had been able to in high school. Even though Quinn didn't want to see anything but her own anger, she saw all of Santana's years and lives weighing down.

In all the years they spent apart, Quinn thought about the distance, physical and emotional. Feared the distance. Thanked the distance. Resented the distance. Distance was a tricky thing because it was impossible to predict whether it would make Quinn forget her or miss her. And with all the overwhelming flood of emotions as she looked at the woman in front of her, Quinn admitted something she denied for a very long time, "I missed you."

Quinn let her words tumble out messily, "I missed you so much, sometimes, it hurt. It was impossible to get through the hour, let alone the day, the week, the years." The words spilled swiftly, though that didn't affect the slow pace of Santana's heart aching.

Quinn took a step forward dangerously. "You think that being apart made it easier? That being alone was any better?"

They were only a few feet apart now. And even though it was cold outside, the goosebumps came from standing so close to Quinn, Santana's heightened senses picking up every atom escaping between those lips.

""Don't you think if we loved harder, we would have suffered less? If I loved you more, you would have hurt less?—"

Quinn's words halted, catching sight of something behind Santana. Even without turning, Santana could hear the shaking hand unsteadily holding a gun. She could hear a man's trembling breath, the scent of his fear reaching Santana. Fear had a funny way of changing people, Santana knew. Santana turned slowly, forgetting any caution when she saw the gun pointing at Quinn. The wineglass shattered in Santana's hand, her grip tightening too much the minute Santana's Allele-enforced instincts kicked in. Warm blood poured from her palm.

A man, face obscured by a hoodie, aimed at Quinn. Quinn couldn't make out anything, his frontside made entirely into a black silhouette as the moon casted light behind him.

"Give me your money and no one has to get hurt," a voice came from the man, unevenly and somewhat desperately. People acted so irrationally when desperate. _Are you desperate?_Santana wondered as she stared at the man. His hands shook, unfamiliar with the weight of a gun in his hands, unfamiliar with the consequences of murder (attempted murder, at least). Such a price for petty theft.

"Hey, hey," Santana spoke calmly, too familiar with the situation. "It's okay, I'm just going to give you my purse." She crossed slowly, angled in her walk just enough to place herself in front of Quinn, blocking her from the line of fire as she walked towards the man. He frantically aimed his gun from Quinn to Santana. Her purse was in her outstretched hand.

* * *

"Do you think they are going to be okay?" Brittany asked her wine sadly, sounding very much like the child of divorcing parents. Iris smiled softly at the friend who loved her little sister like they were family. SNIX, of all people, understood that family wasn't made by blood but by actions and they welcomed Brittany as their honorary member. _Maybe like a third cousin. Or a god-sister. _Godsisters were a thing, right? If not, it should be. Brittany was a God-sent sister to her family. The blonde's tremendous patience with Santana, even on Santana's worst days, made Iris grateful that Brittany had been a part of their little family.

"If they know what's good for them, they'll be better than okay," Iris winked reassuringly. Iris looked back at her own wine, remembering what it was like when she first met Santana, the heartbreak that haunted her ever since she met the girl. She barely noticed her surroundings until she heard a sniffle coming from the tall blonde in front of her, startling Iris from her thoughts. "Hey, hey," Iris pulled her into a hug. "They're going to be okay, Bee. Don't you worry, sweetie."

"They were so happy, Iris," Brittany sniffed into her shoulder, warm tears soaking into the fabric of her blue dress before they could drip down her face. "I know she was …." Brittany didn't want to say it but they were both thinking it: she was dying. "…but it didn't do them any good to be apart at all."

"Shhh, shhh," Iris whispered. "I know, but they're going to try fixing it now, okay?"

She pulled back to look at Brittany. Brittany, unlike her baby sister, still had a gleam of innocence; it was the very reason that things like Quinn and Santana's story broke her heart. Santana, on the other hand, tried to steel herself in, protecting herself from not just sadness but her happiness, too; it made her grow up too fast whereas Brittany seemed to keep her child-like heart. In her world, things just were and there were no complex reasons. If you loved, you loved. Simple as that. And if people who clearly belonged together weren't together, well, that was a damn tragedy.

"If you love someone, sometimes," Iris softly reassured her pseudo-baby sister. "You have to try doing what's best for them even when—"

_Crack._

Iris' words were interrupted by a muffled crack that hit the air outside and made her freeze. No one else seemed to hear it over the din of the wine bar.

_Crack, crack._

Before Brittany could blink, Iris lifted her barely off the ground and flashed outside, pulling Brittany with her. Brittany found Iris and herself outside, less than two feet from Santana. Quinn stood a foot away on the other side of Santana.

Everything seemed normal. Except for the barely visible tremor of Santana's body, her back facing Iris. Quinn looked like a deer caught in headlights, torn between approaching Santana and backing away. Her hand was outstretched and suspended, too afraid to touch Santana. The dark red down Santana's backside looked like it was part of her equally red dress, except that it bloomed from her bare caramel shoulder, snaking down her backside. Almost-black liquid ran down her shoulder, across the smooth skin of the inside of her arms, before dripping off her fingers. Tiny pools of blood gathered at Santana's heels.

Santana pivoted slowly on the pointy heel of her shoes to turn away from Quinn to face Iris. As she set her foot down, shards of a broken wineglass crunched under her feet. Iris squinted. A lot more blood was pouring from Santana's hand, more than she realized. Shards of glass punctured the soft skin of her palms, red pouring out of the cut skin onto the cement, making the quiet _tk, tk, tk _sound of dripping echo in the empty alley.

Iris' eyes met the slightly scared expression on Santana's face, her lips paler, her skin a shade lighter, an apology in her eyes because…

…as Iris could see, nothing was stitching together. The blood continued to pour from her shoulder, the left side of her chest, just above her hip bone. Three shots. Santana muffled a cough, a delicate drop of blood trailing down the side of her mouth.

Quinn gasped at the sight of the exit wound on Santana's backside, intricate trails of blood mapping across her back. The dress was a shade darker where it was soaked in blood. _Why aren't you healing, why aren't you healing,_ Quinn wanted to scream but the words were stuck in her throat. Santana once pulled a tree branch from her hip and was fine in a matter of seconds. _Why aren't you healing?!_

Santana spoke so softly that if they weren't standing so close, they wouldn't be able to hear her words: "I'm… so… sorry." _Cough._ "Take me home…" Santana tried to laugh a little in a failed attempt to alleviate the gravity of the situation. "I promise that—" _Cough._ "—I'll not to get any blood—" _Cough_. "—on your dress." She staggered towards her older sister.

Iris hurried forward to catch Santana around her waist, pulling her in as she whispered, "Like I could care, babysis." She felt the blood soak into her dress, the slight tremble in her body.

She looked over Santana's shoulder into Quinn's wide eyes, her chin perched on her shoulder. Her almond-shaped eyes fixed intensely on Quinn, though she wasn't really looking at her; she was listening to what Santana whispered in her ear, "Don't squeeze too tightly." The splatter of multicolored bruises still hurt deeply and sorely in her muscles, unlike the sharp searing pain in her shoulder, chest and hip. This was not the time or place to ask why Santana hurt so Iris secured a gentle grip around her. Brittany had seen this a hundred times but it never got easier seeing her best friend's blood. Santana smiled weakly at Brittany and winked, trying to comfort her in some small way. The taller blonde nodded so slightly, remembering this was the reason why Santana left Quinn all those years ago as blood trickled out of Santana's mouth. It was hard watching someone you love suffer.

And faster than the bullet that punctured straight through Santana, more silently than the cold air, they were gone.

Brittany and Quinn lingered a moment, eyes fixed on the spot that Iris and Santana had stood in only moments before. Their only trace was the small pool of blood, almost black in the moonlight.

Brittany interrupted their silence, her hesitant voice sounding far away, "Do you want to go home?"

Quinn nodded, unsure of what else she wanted.

* * *

_Hey, everyone,_

_This came a lot faster and is a lot longer since most of this was written way long ago. We're moving along with Quinntana and things are going to develop on the Allele front. It was soooo good to hear from you guys. I feel so inspired to continue this story for you guys and your encouragement is so motivational._

_Leave some love, reviews, PMs! You guys are amazing and I love hearing from you guys :)_

_As always, happy reading!_

_**C. **_


	28. II: Give Them Hell

**II: Give Them Hell**

* * *

"_Put pressure on the open wounds. And then make sure to stay like that until it stops. She should be good as long as you're pressing onto it," _Xion's voice was full of static through her headset.

"She's passing out! I can't hold onto her and apply pressure." This felt surreal, each moment of the night too clear and vivid in her mind. The trickle of blood out of Santana's mouth, the blood pouring out of her chest. Her expression, apologetic and pained, just before she collapsed into Iris' arms. The cold body against Iris' skin. Even now, as she pressed her hands against the open wounds, she felt like she had been dropped into a hospital drama. She's a IT director, _not_a doctor but here she was, doing everything she could, which was very little, as it turned out.

"_Put her down on the bed. Find something heavy to put on the openings if you don't have enough hands. Check and tell me, how's the bleeding?"_

"Do I have to?" Red liquid and muscles squelched unpleasantly under her palms, soaking into the white sheets. The metallic stench of blood permeated the air. The experience was altogether unpleasant but she relented and checked; it was slowing. "It's not flooding out anymore, not as much as before, at least."

"_Okay, she's probably just going to need some rest. I think her abilities are fluctuating, not broken," _Xion sounded relieved. _"I need you to apply pressure until it stops. Ideally, you'll have some gauze or something. Neil and I are tracking through Costa Rica right now for Greenfield but you know you can call us and we'll be right home."_

"Yeah, okay, just be safe.

"_Make sure to tell Annie but ask her to keep this quiet._" Special Agent Annie Lang was their inside man. Or woman, in this case. Working with the Sahara Police Department but hired under the federal department, she managed SNIX tips and crime handling privately. It helped to have someone who can follow up on the processing of the criminals they put away and have an ear on the inside of federal sting operations. It also helped that Annie was a good friend of Brittany's, help assuaging Santana's guilt about not exactly being available all the time.

"I left Annie a message already and she might come over later. I'll let you know what's up with babysis soon."

_"Love you."_

"Love you, too."

From the background, she heard Neil shout, "I love you, too!" Iris laughed, half-manic with relief. Her sister was going to be fine. Santana was going to be fine.

Iris said the words that Santana always said, before any mission, any night raid because some nights, that just was the point of it all: "Go give them hell." Allele would pay, one day, for fucking up all their lives and bodies.

* * *

The world was hazy when Santana woke up, everything a little bit blurry. "Oh, good, you're awake" Iris' voice floated from somewhere left of her and she could hear the pages of a magazine. _I feel heavy_, Santana thought. When she looked down, she saw rice bags sitting on top of her, one on her shoulder, one on her leg, one on her hip, sitting atop a wad of gauze. The red dress was draped over a chair on the other side of the room, the heels neatly placed on the tabletop. She looked at Iris, confused to why she had a rice bag sitting on her bare body, covered only by a bra and underwear and gauze.

Iris sounded like she was joking, "Well, it wasn't like I was going to apply pressure forever, you know. They were the only things that were heavy enough to put pressure on you." She lifted one bag to check under, before nodding and removing the three bags. Iris tossed a hundred pounds over her shoulder like it was lint.

It was only a moment before Iris reappeared beside Santana, the mattress moving under the added weight. "And _that_ –" She punched Santana on her uninjured shoulder, earning herself a groan from Santana. "—is for not telling me what's going on with you. In short, _lying_." Iris loathed lying, for good reason, and she let it show. She may have been joking but the anger on her face was very serious, enough to make Santana cringe.

"Don't bother hiding your bruises. I already saw them." Iris' voice sounded menacing. "Clearly." Iris waved her hand in the direction of the dress and heels.

Santana rolled over and let out a sigh as she settled back into the soft embrace of her mattress. "How long have I been out?"

Iris checked her watch, "Well, we left Mosaic about six hours ago." She turned to look at Santana, who buried herself into the bed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Iris didn't sound angry. Just... hurt.

"I didn't want you to worry," Santana's voice came out muffled against the pillow she face-planted against, not wanting to see Iris' concern on her face; she didn't need to hurt on the inside, too. She waited for Iris to hit her, scold her, yell at her, something intense as Iris was.

But it didn't come.

Iris placed her hand gently on Santana's thigh, over the blue bruise that hurt Iris to even look at. She placed her hand under Santana's chin, turning her baby sister's face towards her, though her eyes didn't quite meet Iris'. Her voice was gentle, "Okay, babysis, I know the last time you were in love, like really in love, you were in high school and you had to make decisions like an adult. And that experience was cut short for you. And our odd childhoods kind of messed up our ideas of family love."

"We haven't loved much, Santana," Iris sighed, trying to put voice to her thoughts. "Granted, we haven't had many chances or reasons to let people into our lives. And even I've had so little experience in it but I've learned a few things, so I need you to listen, okay?"

Santana looked up at her, giving her silent consent, as Iris continued her prepared speech, "Loving someone doesn't mean pushing them away to protect them. Don't do it to Quinn. Don't do it to me." She reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Santana's ears. "Sometimes, it means letting someone you love see the parts of you that no one else gets to see. Crying, laughing, hurting, all those things are a part of you and if you're lucky enough to have someone who loves you as much as I do, it means I want to be a part of that."

Santana nodded, looking very much like a child, letting her older sister's words wash over her, "You have a whole lot of us who love you, you know that, right? Me, our messed-up little family, Brittany—" Iris hesitated but continued on with a decisive tone, "—and Quinn. So don't hide who you are from us. We're all hurting and it just hurts less if we share the burden, okay?"

Iris softly stroked Santana's cheek and wiped away the tear that escaped her eyes before she got up. "Okay, well, I'm going to come back to check on you later. Xion said he's bringing some meds for you, so you just stay in bed today." She leaned over to kiss Santana on the forehead before she got up.

Iris reached for her phone, wallet, and keys. Tucked them away into her bag. Headed for the door. Glanced back at her sister who shrank into a small ball among the pillows and blankets. "You should talk to Quinn. Brittany said she was pretty scared."

With a conclusive shut of the door, Iris left Santana, alone the image of Quinn and her outstretched hand seared in her mind.

* * *

"Quinnie?"

Quinn looked up to find a mug floating in front of her. Brittany held a cup of tea towards her as she found a way in the maze of Quinn's apartment. Quinn's apartment seemed to always be half unpacked, even though she had lived in Sahara a good while now. There was something that felt impermanent, like this wasn't the place she belonged. So she left things in their boxes, taking out an outfit here and there.

"So," Quinn started, hesitant to ask the question because of the answer. "Does that happen often?"

She didn't need to say what _that_ was. _That_was already on Brittany's mind.

"Um," Brittany hesitated. Torn between lying for Santana and being honest with Quinn, Brittany had to pause before summing up her thoughts and making a decision. Quinn deserved to know, especially after tonight. "Yes. Well, not _often_. But I've seen her get hurt before. When I first moved out here, I lived in probably the worst part of Sahara, like down by those warehouses." Brittany looked at her own mug, recollecting the experiences with a shudder. "But I already signed a six-month rental contract. Santana came and stayed with me for those six months, even though she has her own gorgeous loft, and she was always there when I walked, literally walked, straight into trouble."

"God, there was one time, it was a little past midnight and I had just finished at the studio. I should have called a cab or something but I decided that forty dollars in cab fare was just not worth my safety, apparently. Anyway, I ended up in an alleyway, just like tonight's. A guy's hand scratching against my thigh, his blade pressed against the side of my neck," Brittany turned her head just enough to reveal a thin sliver of skin that was whiter than the rest of her neck, slightly raised. The scar was barely visible, even when pointed out. "I don't know how Santana heard me. Honestly, I whispered her name but she and Neil were there, before I knew it. I don't even know what happened to the guy; I'm pretty sure Neil did something to him. But she scooped me up and took me home."

Brittany laughed without any humor, "She never said a word about hurting. After she tucked me in and turned to leave my room, I saw this huge opening from one shoulder blade to her hip, like someone dragged a saw through her body. The guy barely left a scar on me but he had actually stabbed her and dragged the knife down, leaving this open wound."

"My friend, Annie, an FBI special agent, said that he was actually a felon, pressed on charges of rape-murder. She showed me his rap sheet later and told me what he did to the women he kidnapped. He would tie up women. Scrape the blade of his knife across their skins, abuse them for days, rape them before throwing their bagged bodies in the river canal. _That's_what she saved me from."

"So yes, I've seen her hurt like that before because she's saved me more times than I can remember and paid for it. And it sucks to watch someone you love get hurt. But considering how far she's gone to love me, bullets and all, it just comes with the territory of loving someone who is that selfless and I wouldn't have her any other way." Brittany looked up at Quinn, who looked intently at Brittany all the while.

The words were comforting (sort of) until, "But I've never seen her heal so slowly. Sometimes, Xion had to come and fix her. Before, he used these little needles and now, I think she just takes pills. And they would always visit. Neil would bring her favorite foods. Iris came and just hung out with us. I think it's just starting to wear down on her or something," Brittany shrugged, leaning back into the sofa. "They tried explaining it to me a few times but it's just too much. All I know is that Santana is always okay in the end and that's what matters to me."

Quinn sat quietly, wanting nothing but to sit with Brittany's words but not be left alone with her thoughts. Brittany, always able to sense what Quinn wanted even though she never said it, put an arm around Quinn, pulled her closer and let Quinn lean against her as she weighed her thoughts. And they sat quietly until Quinn could finally fall asleep without haunting thoughts jolting her awake.

* * *

"Ma'am, how you doin'," Xion tipped an imaginary hat as he walked into the bedroom.

"I can't remember the last time I slept this much," Santana groaned as he whipped open the curtains to let the light flood in. She curled, scrunching up the sheets around her.

"Well, I'd say it's doing you some good," Xion leaned over to inspect her backside, the only part of her body that visible in the sea of sheets and blankets. "I mean, it's closed and your bruises are fading." He poked at one, making Santana smack his hand. He laughed, "It seems like you're fine now!"

"Okay, so seriously," Xion plopped onto the bed, stretching across the foot of the bed. "Tell me what's up 'cause I _know _that you know you're not invincible. I mean, I told you like...a week ago and I would think that at the very least, you would listen to your doctor."

"It just wasn't a big deal, hermano," Santana waved away his concern. "You all worry too much."

"Look, I know Iris can be really protective. I mean, like overly so," he replied nonchalantly, inspecting his nails as he spoke. "I live with her, so trust me when I say I know." He looked up at Santana. "But next time you're hurting, you have to tell me. I won't tell Iris but I'd much rather keep track of what's happening with you. Especially since I'm the one who's trying to get you fixed."

He winked at her, "Our secret."

Santana nodded. It meant a lot for Xion to offer to keep something from Iris. The two weren't necessarily attached at the hip like some dependent, needy couple but they did share a lot of their lives together. "Thanks. I will

"Okay, good." He stood up and dug around his messenger bag before pulling out a small orange vial with white tablets. "Remember, once a day if you want to keep up your normal life."

Xion's expression became serious and concerned, just the slightest. "We're going to make it right soon, hermana, when we finish off Allele. We're all going to be okay soon."

* * *

Neil was the second visit she received that day.

"Look at you," Neil joked as he sauntered through the door. "Finally put down for a change. Good, 'cause you were starting to make me look bad with all that you do."

Santana smirked, "Well, that's 'cause you don't do anything."

He mocked anger, his mouth dropping open and his hand held to his chest like Santana had just stabbed him. "And here I thought I was doing good by bringing you the Twitter updates of the day."

"No, no, no," Santana laughed, needing her news. "Okay, okay, tell me, my dear assistant, what has been happening in the world since I left it?" She swooned and fell back on her bed.

Neil jumped onto the bed, stretching out his legs. "You should be grateful that I love you enough to visit."

Santana rolled her eyes, "Besides the fact that I'm your favorite sister, I'm pretty much back to normal which means I can and will literally kick your ass if you don't get on with it!"

"Okay, okay," Neil pulled out his tablet and quickly swiped around the screen. "News. Eric confirmed for dinner so somehow, we're going to have to get your weak-ass over to France. News. Your agency called and gave you three days off so you should probably try to figure out your body and life shit out then. News. Brittany called." He looked up, "Why haven't I seen Britts in awhile? We need to have her over soon."

Santana rolled her eyes, "'Cause she's _my_best friend, not yours. Go on."

"Here are your new licenses, IDs, and credit and debit cards," he held out a pile of shiny cards in his palms. "I had them remade and cancelled your old accounts since that jackass took your purse," Neil looked almost angry. Santana ran her fingers over the raised letters on her cards, Alexandra Lopez. Lexi, for short, of course. It hadn't been hard to create a new persona; it was only hard to hear the name every day as a reminder of what she was doing and why. It felt like Lara came from a lifetime ago, a whole other world and life that existed before she got to Sahara. She could hardly remember McKinley High, those red Cheerio uniforms, Glee Club. She got updates once in awhile through Brittany but for the most part, she stayed away from that life. Instead, she hitched her emotional baggage and faced her new life head-on, starting with the whirlwind of changes that Lara brought into her life.

Neil continued, unfazed by Santana's reverie, "But don't worry, I dealt with him. Robert Thornton." He spat Robert Thornton's name like it was bitter in his mouth. Santana felt relieved to put a name to the faceless attacker but was quickly taken back by Neil's words.

"What do you mean you dealt with him?"

"Any moron who is stupid enough to steal a purse from _my _family and then use her card at a local ATM deserves to be dealt with," Neil looked down, hiding the anger and shame. He sneered, "You learn how to trace morons like Robert Thornton after being around Iris long enough."

Santana spoke slowly, a threat lingering in her voice, "What. Do. You. Mean."

"I just roughed him up a little." The anger distorted his otherwise beautiful face, making his blue eyes glaringly electric, the hazel lost in the glint of his angry eyes.

Santana shoved him angrily. "How could you be so reckless?! Not only did you expose me as a not-so-random victim by having someone come after a guy who assaults me but I told you not to do anything completely unnecessary!"

"Unnecessary?!" Neil rose off the bed, angry right back at her. "You think that you _deserved_ what happened to you and my reaction was unnecessary? Look at you, you're in _bed_ because you couldn't heal quickly enough. You could have _died_. And you say he didn't have it coming?!"

Santana closed her eyes and breathed slowly, making Neil nervous even in his anger. Santana only did this relaxing method when she was furious and it scared him to think that he had made her so angry. When she spoke again, her voice was controlled, thinly veiling her still-hot anger, "Neil, we don't take advantage of what we can do to hurt other people."

She was right. It was so easy for Neil to crush a man like Thornton. He tossed the man around a few times, not enough to break any bones but just enough to send a message. Maybe if they were made of the same material, the man would've been able to take on Neil but as it stood, Neil had the enhanced, supercharged upper hand. Still, it angered him to think that someone could hurt his family.

"I get it, being angry," Santana said gently and firmly. "But we need to treat the cause of crime, not the symptoms. I'm sure this man had reasons for doing what he did. We fight those reasons, not the victims."

Neil snorted.

"And it's better that it was me than anyone else," Santana continued. "At least, What if it had been anyone else?" _What if it had been Quinn?_Santana's heart dropped at the thought, if that gun hadn't been aimed at her but at the blonde. If the blood spilled out of the blond, not Santana. If the person who was dying was Quinn, not Santana.

Neil glowered, angry that she was right. He was angry that this guy would've gotten away with it. He was angry that he needed Allele-given "talents" to beat the shit out of him. And he was angry that someone as worthless as this desperate _mortal _could hurt Santana as badly as he did. Granted, there was no other person better suited for being shot than Santana... "But that doesn't make it _okay_."

"I know," Santa commented gently. "But it's better this way."

Neil was almost like a child sometimes, irrational in his anger. Santana always assumed that Iris and Neil shared some gene that made both of them irrational when emotional. When Santana was angry, she kept composed and she could manipulate her way around any obstacle. The room remained silent in the conversation's hiatus, until Neil could speak without being irrationally angry.

"Okay, well," Neil sounded curt, not overwhelmed with anger but still angry enough to not want to be with Santana in that moment. "I'll see you later."

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his tablet and his jacket before stalking out the door.

Santana sighed, flopping back into the cushion of her bed; a dull headache throbbed at her temple. A line from Shakespeare's Henry V crossed her mind in moments like this: "Uneasy rests the head that wears the crown." Herein lay the terrible price for leadership, to have someone unhappy with your decisions and style of leadership. Every decision weighed on Santana's shoulders and every unhappiness sat like lead in her stomach, heavy and foreign. These moments made her wish that she could just be one of them, normal and unassuming, careless and carefree because to be a leader cost her the carefree happiness. It would have been so much easier to go after the robber and beat the shit out of him. But he wasn't the problem; the problem was much deeper than that, embedded in the greed of capitalistic pursuit and corporations, corrupt governments and wealthy people with a blind eye for the poor that turned men desperate. After her own taste of injustice, having lost her humanity and the there was no response than the strong desire to fight the true cause of injustice, not its symptoms. There simply was no other way that Santana could be.

_Let Neil be angry for now._ In time, he would simmer down and not be hurt by her ways. _In the long run, he'll learn and understand. _

In the meantime, Santana had other messes to clean up.

* * *

"You were in the process of yelling at me when we were so rudely interrupted."

Quinn's face was beautifully struck with surprise when she saw the Latina standing in her office doorway, leaning against open doorway, her hand holding papers, files, documents. Her hair was tossed around her shoulders, one hand running through blonde waves.

Santana looked pristine, no trace of blood or pain. Her attire completely attire and yet, enticing, the black skin-tight dress with small roses, if you looked closely. The clunky combat boots that rose to the middle of perfectly toned calves, a leather jacket tossed over shoulder. Quinn almost smiled at how Santana had changed so much and at the same time, changed so little. Santana's smirk, devious and somehow still inviting, felt familiar, more familiar than Quinn remembered.

"I..." Quinn faltered. "I don't remember what I was yelling at."

"Well, that's a damn shame 'cause I haven't heard anyone talk that much since Berry's farewell speech," Santana joked as she walked towards Quinn, sitting behind her office desk. Quinn broke into an easy smile, remembering for a second about the friend she had long neglected in the whirl of her own life. "It was good hearing what you were feeling," she admitted quietly.

"But you're okay?" She looked like it but Quinn couldn't help asking.

"Just about."

"How did you know I would be at my office?"

Santana smiled knowingly, "You don't become head Cheerio without becoming a workaholic. And you can't become a workaholic without acquiring lifelong habits. So overtime, when you need your mind off things, you work. You work until things are better." Santana took a step forward. "You work until you can breathe again." Another step forward. "You work until you are excellent enough to never be startled again."

Quinn's eyes were wide at Santana's words, her mouth just barely open.

Santana laughed, "Because that's how I am. And we were always alike." She waved her hands between Quinn's seated body and Santana's body leaning over the desk, now only separated by the few feet of a desk.

Just as she was close enough for Quinn to get up and press against Santana's lips in a kiss, Santana pulled back and sat in one of the two chairs on the other side of Quinn's desk. She leaned back into the chair, putting more inches between them. Santana paused to think for a moment before making a decision. "You can ask, you know."

"Ask what?"

"Anything you want to know." Santana had made this decision before coming. If anything, she owed this much to Quinn, if not more.

* * *

"So after you left Lima?" Quinn let one of the millions of questions escape her, leaving her terrified and anxious to hear the answers.

"Passed high school with flying colors. Of course, I didn't know until I came back to check my mail after a few months, just before going to college, but I figured I did well enough. We can all thank my abnormal IQ for that," Santana laughed uncomfortably, trying to make a joke where it wasn't funny. "I spent most of my time running. Literally running. There was actually about two months, though, that I went to this island."

She looked up at Quinn, who was leaning forward in her fascination, drinking in the words of a life that she had always wondered about. Santana continued, "God, it's going to sound like some weird Castaway-movie but I swam out to this island. Of course, I found out later that I could run on water if I sprinted fast enough but I hadn't found that out until way later. And..." She cleared her throat. "Well, flying wasn't an option."

Santana looked back at her hands as she talked, "I spent those two months by myself on this deserted island that was barely off of the west coast. I actually found it by chance, while I was swimming to figure out what it took for me to get tired. I penned a letter home, told my parents that I wouldn't be home for the summer, not to worry, I'll send postcards or something once in awhile, that whole thing."

When she closed her eyes, she could smell the salty ocean air, hear the rustle of trees brushing against each other, the warm sand under her feet. "It was the hardest and the most relaxing time I can recall. I could be me without worrying if anyone would see me, what they would say. I ran as hard as I could, which turns out to be really fast, actually. I could jump; I think there was actually three days where I tried not to touch the ground once. I felt like a super amped-up Tarzan," Santana laughed looking down, thinking of how stupid she must have looked. But she quickly sobered up, "And it was the hardest time."

The words were stuck in her throat. She wanted to admit it very much and deny it as much but with her eyes casted down at her hands in her lap, she went with her gut instinct. _It's now or never, Lopez_. "It was hard because when it was quiet, all I could think about was you. All I could remember was you. Every time anything happened, even the wind making the trees sway, I hoped it was you even though I knew it wasn't. I ran with you in mind. I swam to you. I looked and saw everything in terms of you. 'Oh, Quinn would love this. Quinn would have laughed at that. Quinn...'"

It was amazing, to Quinn, how much Santana and Quinn thought alike. Santana's words reminded her of how often she would look for Santana, even when she knew Santana was nowhere to be found. How everything was in terms of what Santana would have thought, liked, missed, laughed at. Quinn searched for the echoes of Santana in her own life.

Santana cleared her throat again, trying to pass over the discomfort of confession as quickly as possible. "Anyway, I came home and cleaned up. It's amazing how disgusting you can get by spending weeks alone on an island, trying to forget everything you know. Cleaned up, went to college, like nothing ever happened."

All of the sudden, she felt tired, like she just relived one of her worst summers in the span of a conversation. Quinn weighed Santana's words in her mind, carefully turning them over and over until she could make sense of them. A million more questions burned in her throat but Santana looked tired, gracefully exhausted. Santana let the moment sit before the silence got too uncomfortable, too many what-if-she-thinks-i'm-a-freak voices going on in her head.

"Hey," Santana started, realizing she should start getting ready to go to Eric's. "You look like you have work to do and I have to rest a little before tonight. But if you want, you can come over sometime and we'll finish this game of twenty questions later." Santana reached for a pen and the pad of post-its on Quinn's desk. She pulled the post-it off and stuck it in front of Quinn, who looked down to find a number scrawled on the neon pink post it.

_What's tonight_, Quinn wanted to ask. The thought of Santana on a date with someone else made Quinn choke quietly inside. What did come out of her mouth, though, was, "Thank you." Santana had the hint of a smile on her lips, the dimple on her cheek caving just the slightest, making Quinn want to reach over and gently press her finger into the small hollow. She wanted to climb over the desk, wrap her arms around Santana and hold onto her, whisper, _Please don't leave_.

Santana stood and headed for the door, when she paused.

She turned back and as though she could hear what Quinn wanted to but didn't say, she admitted quietly, "I'm here. I know it didn't seem like it but I've always been here."

* * *

"Okay, I'm looking at his files right now," Santana spoke into her headset as she looked at the screens on her wall.

"_Yeah, well, he doesn't have a record and it seems like Robert Thornton is clean_," Annie replied from the other end of the conversation. "_I mean, squeaky-clean. He actually is making me feel guilty._"

"Hmmm," Santana hummed as she thought.

"_How are you feeling though? Iris told me a little bit of what happened._"

"I'm fine, actually. I just wanted to make sure that Thornton wasn't someone we had to put away; else, I'd be on the streets."

"_Girl, take a break. I'm sending over the reports in a few days but you guys are cleaning up the city that you're leaving no work for the rest of us mere mortals!_" Annie chortled.

Santana grinned, "We do what we can but you're right. We have plans tonight so you can properly earn your paycheck tonight."

"_Haha, well, we'll deal with the drunks and all. Go have fun tonight._"

"Thanks, Annie, we'll talk soon. Go keep Britts company!"

From the background, she could hear Brittany, "_Say hi to Eric for me, Tana!_" Brittany got along with Eric really well the few weeks he stayed with Santana while they put together his exportation package for France. They were, as Iris liked to put it, kindred spirits: so enthusiastic about the glory of life.

"I will!" Before the call ended, she could hear, "_Come on, Annie, you promised me pancakes!_"

Santana smiled as she stood and stretched, her spine making quiet cracks in the most satisfying way. Being bedridden didn't agree with Santana; she needed to be doing something.

Now, it was just a matter of finding something decent to wear to dinner with Eric. Santana examined her outfit in front of the mirror, wondering if it was appropriate as she heard a key slide into the door lock. She quickly transferred the screen to her tablet and blacked out the panels just as Iris burst in through the door.

"Ravishing, darling," Iris declared with one swift look at Santana's slate grey, form-fitting knit dress, hugging her curves. "Really, you need to stop because my dear, you're going to steal my thunder."

"Not your thunder, remember? It's Eric's thunder tonight," Santana laughed but Iris pounced on her mid-laughter, digging her fingers into Santana's side until the Latina fell over onto her bed with uncontrollable laughter.

"My thunder! My thunder!" Iris declared, snickering as she went in for a new wave of tickles.

Santana gasped, laughing and trying to inhale, before she managed to shove off her elegantly-dressed sister-child, who was more of a child than a sister at the moment. Iris giggled and rolled off her bed. "Anyway," Iris continued like she didn't just attack Santana. "Let's get out of those clothes now since we know what you're wearing. We're running to Eric's and I don't want my outfit all wrinkled."

Santana rolled her eyes. Iris gave her a hard poke. "Don't roll your eyes at me. It's a nine-minute run to France. Do you realize how wrinkled your clothes can get in nine minutes?!"

Iris sat on her bed and finally asked what she came for, "So I hear you and our dear brother have been bickering. What was that about?"

"Ugh, he just almost put all of you guys at risk by being all reckless and emotional. He learned a few tricks from you, might I add," Santana raised a brow at Iris. "And hunted down the guy who shot me and beat him up."

Iris bit her lip guiltily, making Santana suspicious. Santana slowly let her words out, hoping for the right answer, "Tell me you didn't..."

"Okay, honestly, I was just so angry. You don't understand," Iris spoke frantically, trying to keep Santana from being angry with her. "I spent like three hours just trying to make sure you weren't going to die. And I wasn't thinking when he asked me to trace your cards." Iris looked up at her with a glint of guilt and defiance, "We were just trying to protect you."

"It's my job to protect you guys."

Iris spoke back with a flare of fierce love, "We are not your job. We are your family. And after everything you've done, we are your fucking gladiators. We do what you need."

Santana smiled, moved by her sister's determined loyalty, even if a little misguided. She walked over to Iris and put her arms around her sister into a hug, immediately snuffing Iris' defensive position. "I need you to be my sister, not my gladiator. I need you to be my family and stay safe until it's okay for us."

Wrapping her arms tightly around Santana's waist, Iris spoke into Santana's shoulder, her words muffled but still audible. "Okay, just don't ask us not do everything any normal family would do."

Santana drew back, smirking, "You mean we're not a normal family?! And here I thought we were like Leave It to Beaver."

Iris laughed before sighing, "Neil's not mad anymore, either. I think he feels bad."

"I'll talk to him. I do greatly appreciate the intention, though, you know," Santana reassured. "Let's get ready for this dinner."

Iris stalked into the other room, strutting to make a point of her outfit. She called out to behind her, "Honestly, have you put a background check on Lauren? I'd feel safer if we had done something."

Santana sat onto her bed, looking at her tablet, half-listening to Iris rant about Lauren and the possibilities of her being a CIA agent, a mental patient, a felon. She pulled up Robert Thornton's information onto the screen. Bank accounts, mortgage loan applications, newsletters and ecards he emailed out to his family, taxes, no prior records, a pink slip from three months ago, his hospital bills for a checkup yesterday that turned out to be a thousand dollars he didn't have, by the looks of his bank account. She saw the faces of his two daughters and son, one of which was in college, apparently. Santana's heart ached for him.

She paused, her hand unconsciously slipping to her chest where she was shot. There was no wound, no pain. She felt no anger, only pity for the man turned desperate.

Each of Iris' step made slight tremors in the floor; Santana could calculate Iris' exact location based on the tremors, her height, and approximate weight. Before she can weigh any thought about Robert Thornton any further, she felt Iris turn and walk back, approaching Santana again, forcing her to quickly power down her tablet.

"Did you hear me?" Iris popped her head up the loft stairs to Santana's bedroom.

Santana turned to face her sister's eager face. "Honestly, it's Eric. I am _not_ going to research her. For once, I think we can be normal people. Besides, Eric's got good instincts."

Iris crooned. "Aw, look at you. Such a _human_," she joked.

"Oh, shut up," Santana clipped. "Anyway, when is Saint going to be ready?"

Iris tousled her own hair as she looked in the mirror, pursing her lips at her reaction and shrugging off Santana's question. "I told you, it'll be ready when it's ready."

"That is the vaguest answer in the world," Santana commented amused by Iris' vain attempt to brush off her question. Santana swept up beside Iris, their side-by-side reflections breathtaking to anyone who wasn't Allele. "I'd say we look presentable," Santana smirked. She grabbed Iris by her shoulders and spun her, "We can't keep switching locations all the time. How far along is Saint?"

Iris smiled knowingly, "Very close, my dear. I pinky-promise." She held up her pinky to make a point. Just as Santana was about to hook her pinky for a promise, Iris spun back, flipping her hair as she strutted off, "And tell me I look good 'cause I _know_ Allele didn't half-ass our looks!"

Santana continued to check herself out as she called out, "At least, send me the floor plans so I can map some internal routes!"

Santana paused for a moment before continuing, "Hey, Iris?"

Iris' voice came from the other end of the loft, where her catwalk had taken her. "Hmm?"

"Do you want to have a family dinner with Quinn sometime?"

* * *

They stumbled through Santana's door, tired and full. "Well, she seemed pleasant," Santana commented, drawing out the word "pleasant" in a yawn.

"Pleasant. Polite. Adequate," Xion laughed good-naturedly. They forgot what it was like to be talking to an ordinary non-Allele person. "She was just so ordinary. I mean, she literally talked about the weather!"

Iris snickered at his disbelief, "Jesus, X, not everyone can be talking about neuro medication or transnational networks of fucked-up people. Be nice."

"I am nice! I was just commenting!" Xion pouted, pulling her into a one-armed hugged that pinned her arms to her sides. She thrashed wildly in his arms, their two bodies began to blur as they just began to start another chase.

"Not in my apartment, nuh-uh," Santana scolded before they could even begin a fight in her living room. "I am finally putting up finishing touches and I would very much prefer to keep my walls. Go home, do your weird love-fights there!"

She tried to shoo them out, literally pushing them out the door. They laughed, pretending to collapse on her. As they pressed both their weights onto Santana, who struggled to lift both their weights, Iris gasped, "Santana… gravity….suddenly…stronger…"

"Get off and out, you trolls!"

Laughing loudly, they tousled her hair before being shoved out the door. Iris whipped around and gave her a quick hug, whispering, "We'll have Quinn over for dinner soon." Just as she finished her sentence, Xion swung her around and swept her into his arms. They laughed as they left, Xion's arm looped tightly around Iris' shoulder, her arm around his waist. _Sickeningly sweet_, Santana thought, smiling as she watched them.

"Ahem," Neil coughed, still standing in her livingroom.

Santana looked at him expectantly. He had sulked during the beginning half of dinner like a child but loosened up quickly. Eric's excitement to see them and Lauren's amazing pomme fritte eased a smile onto his face. Neil cleared his throat again, the words of an apology uncomfortable in his throat.

But Santana graciously and generously shrugged her shoulders, knowing what was on his mind and sparing him of the discomfort.

Neil flashed his brilliant smile at her, feeling relieved at her unspoken forgiveness.

* * *

After everyone left, Santana plopped onto her couch, considering the day she just had.

She thought of the way Eric jumped on them with excitement. He was the little brother that was so eager to always impress them, to make them laugh and smile. She thought about how Eric turned his eyes so adoringly at Lauren, who seemed both fazed and hesitant while basking in his adoration.

And it reminded her of feeling that kind of adoration. It made her think of Quinn and the way her green eyes seemed to sear through Santana, just as intensely as they did before. She thought of Quinn's lips, wondering what they felt like, if all the kisses she received since Santana last kissed her had changed the way she kissed, the way she bit her lip, how she ran her tongue across her bottom lip. She sat there, weighing the warmth she felt just below her diaphragm when she thought of Quinn, unsure of what to make of this. At the same time, she remembered the wide eyes that Quinn looked at her with, vivid as the sound of gunshot in her ears, the pain that tore through her chest, the slow and warm trickle of blood.

Santana pulled out her tablet, looking once again at Robert Thornton's files, remembering him in the midst of all this Quinn-plagued thoughts. After a moment's thought, she wired a careful amount of money from her account into his account, leaving a notice on the transfer: "_We all need help once in awhile. Good luck._" She erased her traces from the transfer, having learned a few things from Iris herself.

Just as she closed her eyes to rest before dragging herself to bed, her phone buzzed, as though the universe was rewarding her instead of ruining her for a change: "Hey, I still have nineteen questions left. Let me know when you're free. –Q"


	29. II: A Gesture, A Person, A Moment

**II: A Gesture, A Person, A Moment**

* * *

Most people think heartbreak is some big event that happens every once in awhile. Some big life-changing moment that comes only a few times but actually, it happens often in a gesture, a moment, a person.

Santana scoffed inwardly at the thought of heartbreak as a once-in-a-lifetime instance because she turned her head, her eyes finding the blonde moving with and around her brothers and sister, and knew it wasn't true. Heartbreaks weren't an eclipse that came every two decades. Santana knew it because she felt that little crack, the seams where she was unraveling from, with every glance at Quinn, each time just as powerful and heartbreaking as the last. The way her fingers grazed the laced tablecloth, her quiet humming that Santana heard like a beautiful soundtrack to the moment, the touch of rose in her cheeks, pinkness of her lips, the faint scent of jasmine that lingered everywhere. This dinner was possibly the best and worst idea that she had in a long time. She watched for a moment, as they set up the table with Eric's favorite French recipes.

"Oops!" Brittany looked immediately guilty at dropping a white plate, the shattered pieces strewn across the ground.

Iris smiled reassuringly, "It's cheap IKEA plates, anyway! At least there wasn't anything in it that we need clean up." Just as she bumped her hip to Brittany's, some gust of wind took it away. When Quinn looked up, bewildered by the shards' disappearance, she found Neil winking at her as he poured the delicate white pieces from his hands into the trash.

"You get used to it," Brittany giggled, Quinn's startled expression completely familiar.

"I highly doubt that," Quinn chuckled as she gathered herself again. Santana entered the room, holding two extra plates in hand. She rolled her eyes as she spotted Neil pointing at the blonde and mouthing, _so hot_, over and over behind Quinn's back.

"You're used to us, Brittany?!" Xion sounded appalled as he appeared behind Iris, a mocking expression of hurt on his face. He set the plate of blanquette de veau gently with one hand onto the wide oak table. "Well, thank goodness we picked up a new blonde. We refuse to believe we're anything but extraordinary."

"He's joking, Brittany," Santana swept up behind Brittany, pulling her into a protective hug just as the taller blonde was about to protest. "They don't have enough people who love them to be abandoning you and they love you too much at this point," Santana reassured. She addressed her next words to her siblings, still holding onto Brittany like a koala, "Stop picking on them." Quinn chuckled quietly, watching them bicker.

Iris laughed, looping her arm around Quinn's shoulders, "We wouldn't tease if we didn't love them." She smiled grandly, explaining as she led Quinn to the table. "It's actually good for us to be around other people. We find that there are a lot of things that we lack, despite how genetically engineered we are."

Quinn was curious. "Like what?"

"Modesty, for one thing," Santana grumbled, pulling out Quinn's chair. Brittany swept into her chair with all the grace of a dancer.

Quinn sat between Santana and Brittany, across from Iris who sat between Xion and Neil. Xion pulled the cork from the wine bottle at hand, a quiet _pop_ before reaching for their special guest's wineglass. The array of dishes was overwhelming; Quinn did her best to remember what was what. There were bay scallops over egg linguini sitting in garlic vermouth sauce, braised Portobello mushrooms, sliced roasted duck drizzled with honey glaze, topped off with pecans and red onions. A spring mix tossed in champagne vinaigrette, tossed with sliced grapes and tomatoes, was pushed into her hands. The conversation halted for a moment as they reached for dishes and handed each other plates. Quinn lost track of what was sitting on the table.

Brittany practically moaned as she bit into a sliver of the roasted duck; they had, apparently, nailed the recipes. Santana observed Quinn discreetly, watching for reactions, when Iris continued their conversation, "Mmmm, we do lack modesty," Iris chewed. "But I'd say we don't know how to be less of workaholics."

Xion nodded, sipping his wine, "I think we've all worked so hard to try to prove something that we've overcompensated. Or maybe we've just been obsessed with the few things we know how to do well."

"You can do everything, though," Quinn interrupted.

Neil laughed, charmingly, "You're much too generous, Quinn. Actually, Xion here was about the most awkward person ever. He lacks social skills, honestly," Neil didn't flinch under Xion's glare. "He failed his clinical practice exam during his second year of medical school because he didn't know a socially appropriate way to ask a mother to leave the room while he asked the daughter about her sexual history!"

Brittany choked on a string of linguini at the thought. Iris completely cracked up, her laughter interrupted by her gasping inhales. Santana half-chortled, knowing how he stumbles on words when he's nervous.

"Excuse me," Xion protested. "I'd say you had your fair share of awkward!"

"Like what?" Neil flashed his charming smile brilliantly, as if to make a point. "I'm fabulous, thank you very much."

"How about how you literally fell down two flights of stairs while staring at Iris' yoga instructor?" Xion conjured an exaggerated look of infatuation. The table burst out in laughter as Neil's expense, his flushed cheeks making the situation more comical. Santana steadied herself with one hand on Quinn's shoulder, doubled over in laughter. Quinn laughed, mainly because she couldn't hold back the small glee she felt as Santana's warm palm held onto her shoulder like an anchor. Iris added, between her laughter and gasps, "You—looked – so ridiculous! Two whole flights!"

The dinner conversation flowed easily, surprising Quinn with how natural it felt to be in this tight-knit circle. Quinn watched delightedly as Santana's brothers and sister eased into conversations, jokes, and anecdotes, telling snippets of their lives that Quinn never knew about. It was hard to imagine Xion, a coworker she sees almost every day in his white coat, rescuing a modern-day damsel in distress. Or Iris, who was so composed, growling as she tore through a crowd of thugs. Even Neil, whose face was much too pretty for battles, taking a blow to his cheek by a metal pipe thanks to some petty thieves. But then they'll do something unusual, swiftly pouring wine before Quinn could notice or passing dishes so quickly that the medley of colorful plates blurred, reminding Quinn that they were more than they appeared. She stole glances from Santana, who smiled, hummed, and looked more at ease than Quinn had ever seen her. Quinn wanted to stare at her, fascinated when Santana laughed loudly with complete abandon, made snarky remarks and smirks at her brother. This Santana was familiar, a memory from so long ago that she was practically a stranger.

* * *

"Ermagad," Neil groaned, stretching his arms after placing his utensils down conclusively. "X, you need to cook for me more."

"What, those pizza hot pockets not cutting it for you anymore?" Xion quipped, grinning.

"Don't be hating on them pizza pockets."

"Boys, you can clean up," Iris poured herself another wine.

"You're lucky I still love you," Xion protested weakly, leaning in to kiss her cheek as he stood up, gathering the plates. "Honestly, this is some sort of slavery, I'm sure."

Neil frowned, "And what about you, ladies?"

Brittany giggled, getting up as she stacked plates, "Don't worry, we're helping, you child."

"I knew you were my favorite," Neil grinned, nudging Brittany as she came to his side with a towering stack of dishes in her hands. "Let's adopt you instead. You can replace Tana, who needs her?"

"Okay, okay, you baby," Santana flashed beside him, smacking him once before carrying glasses into the kitchen. The conversation buzzed there, leaving Iris and Quinn at the table.

"Let's take a walk and grab some ice cream for them. These fools can clean up the mess on their own," Iris winked, pulling Quinn up from her chair, not really giving Quinn a choice. Quinn hardly had time to protest before Iris called out to the small crowd in the kitchen, "Hey! We're going to grab some ice cream really quickly!"

Santana popped her head back in the room, giving Iris a warning look. "Do you want me to come?" She asked Quinn, more than she asked Iris.

Quinn laughed, "I think I can handle it. Thanks, S." The single-letter syllable of Santana's name from Quinn's lips sounded delicious, making the corners of her lips perk into a smile unconsciously and simultaneously stunning her. The small smile that played on Santana's full lips undermined the warning she directed at Iris: "Be nice, Iris. Honestly, Quinn, let me know if she's being mean."

"I'm always nice!"

Quinn smiled at her as she stepped out the door. Iris grinned at the worried expression on Santana's face and as she followed Quinn out, she sung teasingly, "Your humanity is showing—"

"Hey!" Neil huffed, putting the last dish away and slinging his arm around Brittany. "Where are those lazy people running off to?"

"Hopefully not torturing Quinn," Santana prayed aloud, before reaching over to pull Brittany away from Neil with a hug. The blonde hummed happily with Santana's arms wrapped around her, reaching back to tousle her dark hair. Brittany, always more intuitive than most people realized and quick to pick up on Santana's worry in a way that only a best friend could, murmured, "Quinn always handled her own ground. She'll be fine, if not impressive."

Santana smiled, slightly reassured.

* * *

"We need some ice cream for dessert and I'm too full to be sitting down without falling asleep. I get the worst food comas possible," Iris laughed at herself, making Quinn feel at ease. She trotted along, making her six-inch heels look as comfortable as a pair of Crocs. Iris took a breath to keep herself from bombarding the blonde with questions. She tried to ease into the non-aggressive interrogation she had in mind. "So I suppose Santana's silent as a rock these days?" Iris inquired curiously as they walked, Iris pulling Quinn closer with their linked arms.

Quinn pursed her lips as she thought back on their last conversation, "Not really, actually. She's been pretty open. She lets me ask anything I want."

Iris stopped in their tracks, turned to the blonde and quirked an eyebrow. "You're kidding? You got past the high walls of Fort Santana? I am impressed, Quinn Fabray!" Her wide eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of her baby sister opening up to someone.

"No, that's not—"

Iris stopped her words, "I mean, it's a good thing! In all the time I've known her, she hasn't been the most forthcoming person, especially when it came to her personal life." She resumed walking, eyes casted to the pavement as she spoke. "I don't think I've ever seen her immediately embrace someone so quickly in the time that I've known her."

A warm flush crept up into Quinn's cheeks, a tint of rose on her creamy skin. "Well, it's probably because I grew up with her."

"No, because I've seen her hold things back from Brittany, too," Iris stated before quickly mending her words. "I don't mean she lies to her or anything. But sometimes, we do our best to protect people we love by keeping them out of it. But with you, it's like she's given up on hiding things from you because you read her like book." She paused. "Like a big-font, easy-to-read children's book." Quinn chuckled at Iris' cheeky grin. The blonde knew that Santana would die if she heard anyone describe her as a children's book.

"I think we just understand each other really well," Quinn softly replied, more to herself than anything. "I never realized how much I needed someone who understood me until she left, when I was left alone." Iris let her words ring in her ears, considering how much Santana needed Quinn, too.

The bell rang as they stepped into the store, immediately heading for the ice cream aisle.

"What do you think they want?" Iris pondered aloud as they ventured along the tubs of gelato, ice cream, boxes of popsicles.

Quinn hummed, looking for a specific shade of green. When she found it, she pulled it out of the freezer and held it out to Iris: "Pistachio. She always wants pistachio gelato."

Iris looked a little dumbfounded. "How do you know?"

Quinn knitted her brows, trying to remember why she knew before resigning to a nonchalant shrug, "I just do." A long-ago memory had tugged at her mind and handed her an answer.

They quickly paid and left, not wanting the carton of green gelato to melt in the short walk. As they approached Iris and Xion's place, Iris looked like she was deep in thought and Quinn didn't want to interrupt her. The city made enough noise to make the silence between them not silent at all. Their heels clicked quietly against the sidewalk. When they arrived back at the brownstone house, Iris took a step before turning around to face Quinn, the plastic bag looped around her wrist. She looked at Quinn intently, carefully weighing her words before taking a breath, making Quinn nervous.

"Quinn, I'm really glad you're here," Iris softly admitted. "Whether she ever admits it or not, I think she needed someone who understands her. Not just about what she does now but her character, her heart, which is still a mystery to me a lot of the time, even though we're technically made of the same stuff. Someone who notices things like the fact that she likes pistachio ice cream."

Quinn blushed, realizing it was somewhat strange what her mind had chosen to remember in the years apart.

Iris continued, "Whether you guys are friends or something more, I'm just glad she has you. You know if you ever need anything, you can come to me. Questions, complaints, whatever, because—" Iris squinted her eyes at her, as if to inspect her as she spoke, "—you're good for her and we like you. We've known about you for a long time but meeting you, well, I can see why… why Santana never quite got over you."

"Thank you," Quinn was touched by Iris' quick acceptance of this blonde stranger.

Iris waved away her statement, pulling her into a quick hug to break the weight of the moment, "Okay, we need to get in before Santana starts complaining about waiting too long. Good lord, that girl is impatient sometimes." As she turned away, Quinn caught a glimpse of Iris' teary eyes, touched by Iris' deep concern and love for her sister.

* * *

"They weren't too much?" Santana worried, as she opened the door to her loft for Quinn to step in before her.

Santana had exclaimed with an unnatural level of glee when she saw the pistachio ice cream. She devoured it ravenously while Xion and Neil watched, open-mouthed at this random fact they never knew about Santana. Brittany giggled at the sight while breaking the fragile surface of Xion's crème brulee with her spoon and Iris poured herself another glass of wine. Dessert was a revered ritual, the conversation fallen silent at the presence of mouth-watering dessert dishes. Quinn tasted Neil's angel cake with a blood orange syrup and orange zest for the first time and thought she died.

When Brittany yawned, Santana glanced over at Quinn, sitting close by. As Neil offered to take Brittany home, Santana asked hesitantly, "Nineteen questions?" Quinn nodded, replying quietly, "Nineteen." So they headed back to Santana's place together, recounting the light-hearted dinner conversation.

Quinn looked around the large loft curiously as she answered the girl, "No, they were actually great." Quinn turned back towards Santana, who was slipping out of her coat. "I always imagined that's what it would be like to have siblings."

Santana rolled her eyes, "Sometimes, they're too much for me." She draped her coat on the back of a couch, walking off to the kitchen as she asked, "So white or red wine?"

"White."

"Perfect, I like white better, too." Santana's reply echoed in the high ceilinged loft, which Quinn walked around curiously. The room was just large, like someone tore down all the walls in a house. She could see the open kitchen far off, which bled into the living room, a large oak table sat on the side, in front of many screens mounted on the wall. One wall was completely brick, interrupted by the large windows that showed a perfect view of the city. There was short staircase up to the bedroom, which wasn't extremely high but high enough that Quinn couldn't see it.

What intrigued her were the most were the photographs, though. They were everywhere. Panoramic pictures of cityscapes, of vibrant mountains, nimble creatures fleeting the frame, empty canyons against an impossibly blue sky. Black and white images of strangers laughing, a mother hugging a child, two little girls chasing a balloon.

"They're some of my favorite," Santana appeared behind her with two glasses and a bottle of white wine. "They're the only copies of these images that exist, actually. I doubt more than six people have ever seen them and that's including you."

"Why don't you ever exhibit them?" Quinn followed Santana to the couch, two white half-circle couches, just like the ones she had at her home in Lima.

"It would be impossible to tell people how I took them," Santana grinned, proudly like she accomplished a taboo act. "I can just hear the questions: when did you have time to go to islands? How did you get up so high? That angle is impossible." Santana delicately placed her wineglass on the coffee table between them before flopping like a child onto the cushions.

Quinn sat beside her, running her hand across the white sofa cushions. "You used to have these in your house," she commented aloud as she remembered how they had fallen asleep together on these so many times, their bodies curved like parentheses, molded to stack against each other. These half-circle couches always positioned them in a way that let them see each other, even as they sat side-by-side, like now. Santana was close enough to touch. If Quinn turned slightly, she fully faced those dark eyes that never failed to strike her.

Santana smiled, remembering the same: "Yeah, I actually really liked them so I decided I would need them in my apartment someday, too. My family loathes them, actually, because we're so rough all the time and white is just not a good color to have for a couch with a family like ours."

_Family._ Quinn couldn't deny that she wasn't dying of curiosity. She took a breath before asking question nineteen, "What's your family like?"

"There's so many ways to answer this question," Santana responded as she mulled over the question she knew was one that Quinn considered her nineteenth and therefore, expected a real, genuine, in-depth answer. Quinn waited patiently.

"Well, first, they're like me. I mean, we share blueprints at least. All of them are incredibly smart, enough to be intimidating. Like Eric speaks at least twelve languages, four dead languages so sometimes, I have no idea what he's saying. Iris can decode almost anything and hack into any network; in fact, she enjoys it a little too much. Xion, as you know, is already a leading researching in his field, whatever that is. Neil and I just don't pursue it too much, although we keep up with some of the research papers that help us maintain our knowledge of what's happening to us, to the world, to governments." Santana thought of all of them abroad. Jamie in Iceland, Jessica in Costa Rica, Alex in Thailand, and so many more that her head spun, and the haze of alcohol didn't help.

"We can run fast, although that's probably an understatement. We're strong. We're rational," Santana hesitated before continuing, "and we all heal." She was tempted to chortle, remembering the last three bullets that tore through her body. "We do our best to be the guardians, cleaning up the mess that the economy, corruption, greed, jealousy, anger left behind because we're built like the perfect soldiers except…"

Santana paused for breath. "But we're all also fucked up, too. Xion gets these crippling headaches. Neil falls into these crazy spasms that keep him from functioning." Santana didn't mention her own limitations, though Quinn had an idea of it.

"They're wild. I know it doesn't seem like it but stick with us long enough," a request hidden in the layers of her sentence. "…and you'll see how savage it can get sometimes. Neil chucked Eric to the wall and accidentally tore through the dividing wall in Xion's old place once."

"There are a lot of us and we live every day like it's our last because it always feels like someone's watching, somewhere. Someone's looking and searching, trying to claw their way into our lives so they can drag us back. So we scatter ourselves, across countries, across the world so that it's harder to find us."

"But we're the only family we have, even if all we share is a few genetic makeup blueprints locked away in a basement somewhere. So every day," Santana sighed tiredly, sipping her wine every so often. "Every day, we're watching out for them, doing the best we can to keep them safe while trying to do what we can to fix the world with what we were given."

The acidic taste of grapes sunk into Quinn's tongue, giving her a new sense of clarity and courage. When she looked at Santana, the way that she sank into the cushions, the tiredness in her eyes, how she clutched onto the couch out of habit, but as though she needed things to hold onto, Quinn wanted to draw her in, pull her closer and hold her, tell her it would be okay. The alcohol made her brave in her thoughts and desires and dismissed any fears. Right now, it coated Santana in a vulnerable veneer, beautiful in her tired exposure.

"Sometimes, it's tiring, worrying about all these missing parts of me," Santana sighed, setting her wineglass down before she let herself sink to slowly lie down along the curve of sofa. "I always felt like I was missing pieces and I found out that it was that I was only one piece among thousands. We lost other sisters, brothers. Other beautiful creatures who were just as broken and lovely."

Quinn set her wineglass down beside Santana's and crossed the chasm of the couch, crossed the space between them, and slowly approached where Santana lay. She gently placed her hand below Santana's head and lifted her head until the brunette's head laid in her lap. Santana felt cool fingers comb through her dark locks.

Quinn softly replied, "We really were each other's families, you, me and Brittany. I always thought you deserved more."

"I had you, Q," Santana murmured, her eyes becoming heavier with the weight of wine and exhaustion, soothed by the slow way that Quinn stroked her hair. Time eased on almost indefinitely. "You were more than enough."

Quinn hummed her own melody quietly until a hand suddenly gripped her wrist, a delicate hand but strong grip. Santana's sleepy eyes met hers, her hand gently pulling at Quinn's wrist to bring her down. It may have been wine, it may have been the desire that haunted her for so long but Quinn let herself be pulled down, slithering down until she lay alongside Santana's body, the sweet scent of wine and something entirely familiar and foreign on Santana's skin enveloping her. She molded herself into the mold of Santana's body, like her spine had memorized the curve of her body pressed against her own.

They had lived this moment once, a long time ago, at the beginning of everything.

One gesture, one person, one moment at a time, that's how most heartbreaks begin. But it's also how forgiveness begins. It's how love begins.

* * *

_Hello, all! _

_I thought I'd post this one, even though I had originally planned it to be a little longer. Instead, an early posting is my holiday gift to you, my dear readers. Thank you so much, you guys, for patiently sticking with me. I hope this chapter was full of Quinntana goodness for you all. You guys are amazing. _

_Leave some love & reviews. _

_Happy holidays and as always, happy reading! _

_**C.**_


	30. II: Kissing Music

**II: Kissing Music**

* * *

"Well, Eric is always just sweet," Santana tried describing her siblings to Quinn, who lay in her bed, dressed in Santana's extra pajamas, her blonde hair bunched up in her hand as she perched her head on the palm of her hand. The way Quinn listened to Santana with her eyes wide with fascination, even though whatever Santana was talking about was utterly irrelevant and boring to her own ears, reminded her of all the sleepovers they had as kids. Quinn had stayed all those nights that Santana didn't want to be alone, even before they had loved each other. Sometimes, Santana just knew Quinn needed time away from the Fabray house and asked her to stay like she needed her; Quinn knew that Santana asked her to save her from Fabray madness. Quinn, on one end of the bed, and Santana, on the other end of the bed, they found words and thoughts to share somewhere in that space between them.

It was only somewhere after they became friends that Santana and Quinn saw something past that.

Quinn's second of twenty questions started Santana on a whole monologue of people she loved and came to know as her family.

"He has this excitement," Santana smiled, thinking of her little brother's wide and excited eyes. "Like he's just been so shut up his whole life in a cage and finally tastes fresh air. And he's so much more musically gifted than you can imagine. Eric always said sound was just the world breathing out loud. He always wanted me to sing to him."

Quinn grinned at the sight of Santana struggling to describe him, her hands waving in front of her in these motions that were supposed to translate into coherent sentences. It wouldn't have made sense to anyone but Quinn.

"He walked into Iris' place once, when he was staying with me, and she had this broken radio she was trying to fiddle with for frequency testing. He picked it up in his hands, really gently like he could break it if he clutched too hard," Santana looked at her own hands, remembering the expression on his face. "He spent so long, finding these stations and frequencies." Santana looked up at Quinn, laughing as she remembered. "'Isn't it amazing that you can put all these words out there and anyone can listen,'" she mimicked his excitement. "And he turned to this frequency he generated, of course, like the genius kid he is. He started shouting this station he created. '104.2! 104.2!'"

Quinn watched the dimples on Santana's face as she laughed at her little brother's enthusiasm. "He said we should use it for code, like we were little kids discovering walkie-talkies for the first time," she met Quinn's green eyes, glistening with interest. "He turned to me and said, 'You'll always find me here.' before he just grinned and turned back to the radio."

"Did you ever listen?" Quinn asked Santana, spurring her for more words, more of this Santana she was slowly discovering, so much like the Santana she knew and yet, so different.

"I did and he knew I was listening," the brunette smiled, turning to face the ceiling and recalling the sounds that Eric left for her. "He'd leave me the sound of birds he recorded in the Amazon, him trying to sing an old song he found, the things he heard when he woke up, like the door bells of the bakery he lived above, the quiet chatter of coffee shops. He left me little presents because he said it was the world trying to sing a duet with me."

Quinn laughed, moved by how sweet Eric could be. The ring of her laughter filled Santana's loft and brought her back to being seventeen. "I want to hear you sing," the blonde admitted, her sleepy eyes inviting Santana to sing to her at four in the morning, even after they talked all night.

"Oh, god, I don't think I've sung since Glee Club, Q," Santana leaned her head back, remembering the finals days of Glee. It went unsaid that the last song she remembered singing was to Quinn, all those years ago.

"Sing," Quinn requested, all of the sudden aching to hear her voice again. She didn't have to say "for me"; it was assumed and freely given.

Santana glanced at the blonde, the emerald eyes that pierced through her with no mercy and limits. They broke through her as powerfully as they had once upon a time. She shook her head, just to tease the woman lying on the far end of the bed.

"Sing," Quinn repeated quietly.

Santana closed her eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to be seventeen and in love. The melodies stirred inside her, the quiet songs she kept shut away; her world had no room for a luxury like music. It was beautiful and she felt she was not. It was graceful and she felt she was not. It was human and she knew she was not. There was no room for something so beautiful and fragile in her messed up life.

The feeling building up in her chest, the one that stopped her from reaching over to Quinn, was familiar. It was the fear of loving someone who may not love you.

And yet, Quinn was here.

Santana pushed back against the barrier of fear and reached for Quinn across the bed. Before the anxiety, fear, insecurity, anything, herself included, could stop her, Santana pressed her open lips against the only music she had ever known and felt the music kiss her back.

* * *

"Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" Iris huffed.

Santana glanced away from Quinn and to Iris, who was staring at her with the most perplexed expression on her impeccable face. "Huh?" She was remembering the feeling of Quinn's lips on her own, the serene silence that followed after. They passed it like it didn't matter but it did, it so very much did.

"You're all giddy and hazy," Iris narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What aren't you telling me?"

Santana tried to suppress her smile as she retorted: "Nothing, Ms. Paranoid." But Iris followed her gaze and found the reason for her smile, sitting next to Xion.

"Why? What? When?" Iris mentally connected the dots and poked Santana hard with each question.

Santana smirked cryptically, only earning herself more pokes and prods. "Nothing! Stop being such a pest." Iris grinned, turning to look at their two loves.

"They look adorable," Iris looked at Quinn and Xion discussing something seriously, their cups of tea held in their hands but completely full. "Talking serious doctor things, with their scalpels and needles."

"Scalpels and needles? Doctor things?" Santana chortled at Iris' vague and completely inaccurate idea of their profession. She watched Quinn put down her cup on the chair's armrest so the blonde can explain whatever they were talking about with her hands, ticking off her fingers like she was listing something. "Good God, Iris, you're living with a doctor! How do you know so little about what they do?"

"I don't know!" Iris defended herself, swatting at Santana without real purpose. "I'd understand as much as he'd understand data security in cloud computing. You know how it is. Come on, I'm smart but I don't bother learning about what you do when you tinker with your camera because I don't really care to, no offense."

Santana rolled her eyes. Quinn had been joining their weekly dinners, on invitation, of course, for the past few weeks. It was nice for a change because there was an even three on each side of the table.

Even now, Neil amused Brittany, just off to the side, with a game of Monopoly Deal. Santana and Brittany both appreciated that Neil never held back as he played; he never treated her like anything but an equal. In turn, her squeals of delight were genuine because she just beat a genetically-engineered, intelligence asset and soldier. She secretly suspected that Neil's ego was often bruised by Brittany, which is what he needed anyway.

Iris put away their last plate into the kitchen and returned with mugs for Santana and herself. She handed one to Santana without taking her eyes off of Quinn and Xion, their brows furrowed and deep in conversation, probably discussing something about a mutual patient.

As they approached, Quinn exclaimed loudly, "No, they couldn't have gone because the Ministry of Magic was _already_ looking for them! The Death Eaters would have been there in a snap!"

Santana burst out in laughter as she realized what they were talking about with such concentration. Iris doubled over with laughter, nearly spilling her tea as they reached the two. "Are you seriously talking about Harry Potter right now?"

Quinn scoffed, "Iris, you need to check your man because he has not been thoroughly knowledgeable about a seminal children's book series."

Iris pressed her lips endearingly against Xion's temple in a brief kiss, giggling into his skin. "He's flawed, Q, but someone has to love him." She sat gracefully on his lap, his arm circling around her waist to keep her from falling.

Santana stood behind Quinn, placing her hands on Quinn in a way that could have been interpreted as friendlier than friends. As Quinn turned to look at Santana, who was hovering just behind her chair, her elbow knocked over the cup on the arm of her chair.

Three arms shot out, catching the cup before it even fell a few inches. Iris, Xion and Santana held the falling cup three-way. Santana felt a rush of wind, turning to find Neil, standing in the midst of cards flying everywhere, crouched with the intention to catch the cup if it weren't for the others who already caught it.

Brittany giggled at the serious expressions on their faces melting away. Quinn laughed nervously, "Tense much?"

Xion and Santana let Iris take the cup and gingerly set it on the table.

"Yeah, it's…" Santana tried to explain the sudden sensation of anxiety that coursed through all of them, just as Quinn's cup had fallen. It wasn't new to them but it was never a good sign. They could feel their heartbeat pounding, ringing in their ears. Everything felt uncontrollably heightened, their senses usually being something they could manage. Right now, everything prickled uncomfortably.

Iris feigned a smile, "Well, I think it's a sign that we should just turn in." She looked at Neil and Santana, who were nodding, trying to shake off their uneasy feelings. Xion held onto Iris' hand like a life line.

Quinn followed Santana out the door, reaching for her arm before asking quietly, "Are you okay?"

Santana looked back at her with eyes glazed with distraction. "I'm not sure…" She reached for Quinn's jacket and held it up courteously, without even really thinking.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Quinn asked, even though she had already been spending so much time at Santana's that it was assumed she would. It felt more polite. She pushed her arms through the sleeves.

Santana nodded, feeling the blonde's comfort transfer from their touch. "Please."

They left together, arms linked and careful green eyes focused on a distracted Santana. Neil and Brittany followed behind shortly, his arm around her like he needed to be held up. Brittany supported him without protest.

* * *

"What was it?"

"I'm not sure, Q. It was just jolting." Santana peeled off her clothes and reached for a worn t-shirt. Had it been any other day, she would have been very much aware of Quinn's eyes scanning her bare body. She offered Quinn a long tee without even looking at her, lost in her anxiety.

Quinn quickly changed into the clothes and slipped into bed, watching Santana pace the floor.

Back and forth, back and forth.

When Quinn finally couldn't take it anymore, she called, "Come here."

Santana obeyed almost reflexively and climbed into bed, next to Quinn, much closer than they had been laying. Quinn wondered what the boundaries of their new relationship (friendship?) were but it only took one look at Santana's anxious expression, the way she bit her bottom lip. Quinn pulled her arms around Santana and closed any distance between them. Santana, for all the invincibility, enhancements, and genetics she got, felt safer in Quinn's arms than she felt anywhere.

"Do you want to move in?"

Santana's eyes flew open, realizing what she just asked without thinking. She winced, thinking how stupid she could be sometimes.

"What?" Quinn felt shock hit her and then slowly ebb. For reasons still unknown to her, it made sense. There was no place she would rather be than with Santana, whether as friends or even more. She felt Santana cringe in her arms and almost immediately deduced what the brunette was thinking.

Santana pulled back to look at her, trying to rationalize her question in a flood of thoughts: "I mean—um—well, Brittany said you haven't really unpacked anyway and um—like– I have all this space that I hate having to live alone and I don't want to live with Neil or Iris and Xion, who are a two-for-one deal, and um—Itotallyunderstandifyouwanty ourownspaceitwasjustathought andkindofstupidand—"

"Yes," Quinn interrupted as she laughed, leaning against the headboard. "Brittany always did pick up on things quickly. I just haven't really felt at home at my place." She considered the empty apartment and then, Santana's loft. "I guess I never planned on settling in that one because I figured I'd always find some place better."

She looked straight at Santana, sending a _zing_ through the brunette. "So yes."

Santana tried to suppress her grin, while failing miserably at it. Whether she was a best friend or a girlfriend, Quinn was a solid person to have around and Santana couldn't imagine it any other way. She leaned back into Quinn, letting the rise and fall of her breath wash away everything else.

* * *

Happiness is a fleeting state of being. With Quinn around more, Santana felt happier than she normally would. That elation, that feeling like she could fly, that lift in her heart and spirits came crashing down harder at the next dinner they had together.

It was a typical dinner, full of good food and laughter. Quinn touched her arm as she laughed, even Neil noticed their proximity. As they lingered around the table, their dinner and dessert complete, Iris watched her sister closely, noting all the shifts in behavior, how Santana's gaze lingered, that look in Quinn's eyes as she turned to Santana. All those things didn't go unnoticed and Iris wanted to laugh with glee when–

The room rang with the sound of an incoming call to Iris and Xion's line. The network line. Each of them felt that anxiety in their stomachs, their gut falling with dread. They looked at each other knowingly, while Brittany and Quinn looked confused at the sudden change in the atmosphere, an almost palpable dread.

Santana, with trembling fingers and anxiety rushing through her veins, reached for the small headset on the coffee table and answered the call, "Hi, James. We're here. Talk to us."

Iris, Xion, and Neil fumbled to put on their headsets while Brittany and Quinn sat, unsure of what to do. Less than ten minutes ago, they were laughing. Now, something serious happened that interrupted any warm feeling. Xion swiftly swept away the plates at the sound of James' voice echoing through Santana's headset, the table now clear and cleaned of any dinner table evidence.

"_Hi, SNIX. Sorry to call without warning. We were wondering if you've seen or talked to Eric. Our EMEA regional team reached out to him about a possible tipoff we got from the Russian circuit but he hasn't responded for a few days, which is unlike him." _

Santana reached over and pulled her tablet from the bag. Iris, Xion and Neil moved without orders, slowly setting up their operations. The shades drew closed by automatic sensors as Iris flipped on the eight screens that lowered from the ceiling. Quinn stood to back against the wall, alongside Brittany, trying her best to stay out of the way.

Iris flipped on speaker so that James' voice came through the surround sound speakers.

Santana spoke firmly, "James, have you been to his place?"

"_We have and nothing seems out of order except all of his essentials haven't been touched. His phone is on his bedside table, something he carries with him obsessively."_

Iris typed codes furiously into her computer while Santana dragged Eric's records onto the main panels. She continued to direct, "Are you there right now?"

"_Yes, we're here. Me, Lauren, and Sarah." _

"Hey, guys," Santana greeted the rest of the team. Quinn looked at the side panel where there was a list of names with small lights. Most were yellow lights but as soon as Santana said their names, the lights next to Lauren and Sarah turned green.

"_Hi, sis,_" two voices came through.

"I need you to look closely for anything and everything," Santana directed calmly, even though panic and dread sat heavily in her stomach. "Shelves with missing spaces, thin film of dust on things, ripped sofa cushions, talk to me."

Iris exclaimed from her corner, "I got it!" A third panel lights up with grainy images slowly being smoothed. The insides of a house show up, dark and grainy but with moving figures. Iris glanced over her shoulder at Brittany and Quinn, clearly unnerved by this invasion of privacy. "Don't worry," she grinned. "We don't usually pry unless we have to and plus, we have Eric's full permission."

Quinn nodded, not really knowing what else to do.

Santana glanced at her, realizing for the first time since they re-entered each other's lives, how close they became again. Otherwise, Santana would have sent her out, away from all this. She heard Iris' words about love, _You have to let them see you. _Whether she liked it or not, this Allele mess, with all of her brothers and sisters, with all the crazy people, they were all a part of who she was and this time, Santana wasn't going to hold back who she was anymore. Quinn deserved a secret-free relationship and friendship.

So she turned back, letting herself be everything she was and letting Quinn see it. "Okay, be my eyes and ears, guys."

After hours of interrogating what the situation was, there were no real results except that he vanished. Completely gone but it didn't seem like it was unwilling.

"It doesn't make sense, he wouldn't just leave," Santana slammed her hand against the table in frustration.

Iris finally sighed, "Okay, Santana, try not to break my table. We need that to eat, you know," she looked over at Brittany and Quinn, who sat fascinated and terrified. "Look, we're not going to be able to find out what's happening today. Go home, get some rest. X and I'll run the facial recognition searches on autopilot."

"But I can–"

"Go!" Iris rarely tells her sister what to do unless she knows it's what's best for her and there is absolutely no alternative. When Santana didn't budge, Iris turned to Quinn, who sat in a chair with Brittany's head leaning against her, sleepy, "Q, please take her and make sure she doesn't stress or panic or whatever."

Quinn nodded, putting her arm around Santana's waist and murmured, "Come on, let's get you some sleep."

Santana reluctantly let herself be pulled out the door.

* * *

Evidence of Quinn appeared slowly over the last few weeks and Santana had made room for her. A jade colored vase on the windowsill, always with flowers, usually white hydrangeas. Her iPod plugged in on the kitchen countertop, her laptop on the coffee table. While this would have usually irritated Santana, she never felt more grateful that someone filled her loft with life.

Santana got two smaller beds, the twin-sized frame making her feel like a college girl again, reminding her of the single dorm she had. After a king-size bed, the small size of it seemed comical.

But Quinn noticed that Santana still had her nightmares, the nights she did manage to get some sleep. The blonde made her way over to the girl who was stuck with demons inside her mind and held her, the two closely tangled in that twin-size bed. Eventually, they pushed their beds together and later, just got rid of the twin-size bed altogether. Santana brought back the king-size bed and they just shared it with more than enough space for both of them.

So tonight, when Santana was wracked with worry and anxiety that she never could quite express to anyone else, Quinn held her friend closely, wishing she could do more. They sat like that, Quinn's lips pressed against Santana's temple, their arms tightly wrapped, blurring the lines of their friendship as they fell asleep.

* * *

_Happy 2013, all! I can't believe we've been going on this journey for almost four-five months now. I'm so very grateful to you guys for your encouragement and patience. I hope this year brings so many blessings for each and every one of you :)_

_I also started another fic on the side, just because I had this idea in my head. I have no idea why I keep writing fantasy/supernatural fics, considering I don't even read fantasy in my spare time. If you are following that fiction ( s/8840248/1/Unworldly), I'm working on it, too. _

_Thanks so much for reading. Happy new year & happy reading!_

_Leave some love & reviews._

**_C._**


	31. II: An Unexpected Intrusion

**II: An Unexpected Intrusion**

* * *

She held her tablet in her hand, attempting to scroll through the photographs she just shot today for her firm's newest client. A technology company that had all the makings of Google and she had just done the shots of their two co-founders, barely thirty years old and billionaires. Their newest search engine was the hottest thing on optimization right now, but their charm and good looks were the hottest things in the technology industry altogether. It had all the factors, good-looking people (she was a sucker for beauty, regardless of gender) and quality ideas and products, that usually nabbed Santana's attention. But she couldn't focus on anything. Instead, Santana watched Quinn, her eyes lidded with sleep, a small smile on her lips with the anticipation of sleep. A strand of blonde hair rose and fell with her breath, escaping steadily through her breath. The wrinkle of her pillow pressed itself into her cheek, soft lines across the delicate skin of her face.

People remember their years by the big things, the huge events that seemed, and often were, markers of life changes. Like graduation day, the prom, first day of college, last day of college, the day the one person in the world who mattered walked into that obscure little coffee shop, or whatever. Santana stared at Quinn, trying to take a mental snapshot, because these moments, the seemingly insignificant ones, that mattered the most. Between Santana's deteriorating condition and the way things in her life seemed to be going, she felt a sense of something dark looming overhead.

And right now, in her mind, Santana was waging a war. The battle was to focus on other things, like Eric, like work, when Quinn was right next to her, breathing in and out perfection. Another battle was to keep from running away, to stay next to the one person who could tug at her most well-kept thoughts as easily as pulling a cup of coffee towards her. Another battle was holding onto her rationality when her feelings tumbled nonsensically inside. But the war , the summation of all these smaller battles, was to grapple with the desire to hold onto Quinn, press against her and maybe, by some sort of miraculous osmosis, pour her love through her transparent skin into Quinn. The war was the struggle between respecting what she had done to Quinn so many years ago as a lover and a friend and stifling her desire to be Quinn's everything and more. Santana may have sat silently, but the chaos in her head was anything but silent.

Even with her eyes closed with sleepiness, Quinn felt the intense gaze on her face, her shoulders, her hair, trailing down the length of her flipped body. She smiled softly into the pillow without even opening her eyes as she asked, "What?"

Santana smiled, content to watch her fall asleep. "Has anyone told you that your hair looks like the color of butter?"

Quinn grinned at the words, still with her eyes closed. "Yeah, well, it's not as good on toast so don't do anything stupid."

"That is... absolutely disgusting," Santana groaned, traumatizing images of cannibalism crossing her mind. Hair chewing was a habit she never got into, even though she knew girls in high school and college who kept that habit. For some reason, it made her think of barber shops and floors with layers of hair, all colors, all lengths. "Ugh, it sounds like something out of Sweeney Todd," she said as she made a face, trying to shake the image from her mind. The horrific images quickly ebbed away when she looked back over at Quinn's sleeping form fidgeting to find a position, resolving in a position to put Quinn on her side, facing Santana. Wanting so very badly to reach out and kiss her, Santana instead opted for a more subtle route, admitting quietly, "I'm… just glad you're here, Q."

Quinn reached for Santana's hand, her eyes half-closed. "I'm glad I'm here, too, Tana." She squeezed lightly. "I'm going to be here a long time so try to get some sleep tonight."

"I can't, Q," Santana leaned forward and pressed her lips against Quinn's temple. It could be interpreted as friendly... or not.

"Mmm," Quinn hummed with contentment and tried to open her sleepy eyes, she turned to face Santana, who was sitting upright and against the backboard. "Okay, let's do this."

"Uh-oh…" Santana joked, only half-serious as she waited for Quinn's game. Each time Quinn opened her mouth, Santana felt the urge to run, to split, to flee out the door because she felt that pull towards the blonde, as powerful and merciless as magnets drawn to each other. So she never left, and instead, she wandered closer and closer to Quinn, finding her way back home to Quinn, literally and metaphorically speaking.

Quinn lamely punched Santana for her quip, aiming for her shoulder but more accurately, swiping her arm. The touch left a trail of tingles on Santana's forearm. "Shut up. Okay, question eighteen. Mmmm, why can't you sleep?"

"Nightmares, insomnia, genetics, you name it." _Well, that was easy._

"Okay, what's the worst thing you see at night?" Now, Quinn was awake, curious about what makes Santana sweat and silently cry at night. Once, she woke Quinn up with an unconscious whimper so desperate and pleading that Quinn felt tragedy radiating off of the tiny body curled next to her. Santana, right now, looked like a confident woman, even in her pajamas; at night, she was as terrified as a child.

"That's two questions, you know. Down to seventeen," Santana grinned but quickly sobered up as she pondered the question. This wasn't an easy question to answer. She weighed it carefully in her mind, while Quinn gazed at her. This would have been a question she could have so easily lied about, said it was going to work naked or losing her hair, normal people nightmares. It could have been her teeth falling out or being in a falling elevator. But when she glanced at Quinn, those emerald eyes pierced straight through her, as if to say, _I know you down to your soul, Santana Lopez. _She cleared her throat before she summoned the words to describe her worst nightmare. "It's always the same godforsaken road, in the middle of nowhere. And I'm running as fast as I can but I'm not really moving."

Santana closed her eyes and leaned back; she could recall the smell of the asphalt on that road, the metallic stench of blood, the feeling of wet blood seeping onto her backside from the person she was carrying. "It smells like dust and asphalt. I'm carrying someone on my back. And then I hear it, three rounds and the sound."

There's a gleam in Quinn's emerald eyes, her gaze carefully observing Santana's story and reaction.

"I feel that blood soaking into my back and I stop, I slow down. The body slides down my back slowly and I think it's Lara," Santana inhales. Quinn lets out her breath in a slow hiss as she remembers the name she hasn't heard in so long. The breath doesn't prepare her for Santana's next words, so quiet that it was almost inaudible. "But when I put the body down, when I look, it's always you. I see you, bleeding out from your stomach, your chest."

Santana couldn't look up so she focused on the fibers of the blanket in her hands, mentally counting the individual fibers of their fine cotton, the only way she could stop the thudding feeling in her chest as she remembers Quinn in her arms, bleeding out. "When I see Lara in my arms, it's sad and I know it is. Because that's what happened and how I felt. But when I see you in my arms, it's terrifying and paralyzing because I gave up..." Santana breathed out the words, "_everything_, I gave up _everything_not to ever see you die because of me."

Quinn offered a sleepy half-smile, stroking Santana's forearm. "But I'm still here."

"I know." Santana squeezed her hand, like she couldn't believe Quinn was, in fact, here.

The blonde leaned forward, resting her head on Santana's shoulder. She sighed before giving a slight nudge as she said, "Then go. You're not going to be able to sleep until you find out what the rest know about Eric." If she knew Santana, it was how single-minded she could be when she had something on her mind. Yet, even with Eric obviously on her mind, she saw Santana hesitate, she smirked. "I'll be here, don't worry."

Santana smiled, putting down her tablet to pick up the skin-tight outfit that Neil liked to call their Fantastic Four suit. It was the only outfit made of material that managed to survive whatever they put it through, most importantly the friction from running at their speed. As tight as it was, Santana slipped into it easily and comfortably, letting the smooth material cover her like black liquid. Quinn didn't want to admit aloud that the skintight outfit, even under the layers Santana put on top, was ridiculously hot. _In a Catwoman-ish way_, Quinn decided, watching Santana slip a jacket on top. Against the night sky, she was practically invisible.

When Santana turned back to look at the blonde in bed, Quinn grinned at her hesitance and urged, "Go."

And she was gone, the only evidence of her presence being the warm, empty space next to Quinn where she sat only moments ago. Quinn felt an ache throb in her chest as she swept a hand across the empty space, trying to hold onto the wisps of Santana's presence.

* * *

"So what do we know?" Santana said as she walked through the door without notice.

"Seriously," Iris exclaimed. "I am not trusting Quinn to keep you away anymore. I thought sex would at least keep you occupied for…" She glanced at her watch for effect. "Like a good couple days."

Santana blushed. "It's not like that, geez, Iris."

"Mmmmmmhmmmmm," Iris rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, disbelief rolling off her.

Santana waved her hand as to dismiss the topic, "Anyway, what do we know?"

Xion walked in through the kitchen door, holding a stack of files and a mug. Coffee, Santana could detect the traces of Colombian roasted beans. "Oh, good, you're here," he said as a look of relief washed over his face. "We need to talk."

"Well, glad _someone_is glad to see. I always knew you were my favorite, X," Santana winked as she pulled up a chair at the room length table that was set up for their aggressive hunt. Iris scowled at the words but quickly turned back to her computer, where she had set up a complex web of camera feeds, integrated with facial recognition and databases.

Eric had been missing eight days, six hours, and nine minutes... but who was counting? With Quinn safely tucked away in the bed, shrouded from the monsters that roamed darkened streets, Santana refocused her thoughts on her little brother, her dear, sweet brother. _Eric, where are you? _

"Okay, so," Xion slid a folder of papers over to her. When Santana opened the cover, newspapers, clippings, announcements, printed news from the Post, Times, NYTimes, global papers were stacked inside. "Since he disappeared eight days ago, there have an explosion of international crimes. Bombings, vandalisms, murder, fallacious suicides, like the world suddenly decided to foster crime."

_42 dead at international genetics research lab._  
_Bombing in Budapest's airforce base._  
_Four detectives murdered in home. _  
_Web developer in Moscow found dead, co-founder of Zentrix, Inc. _  
_Carlson School of Management's business development and venture investment funds group arrested for embezzlement. _

"I've been reading these, too," Santana admitted as she flipped through. "And look," she brought out her tablet to display the web of international crimes and happenings since Eric's disappearance. When she hooked it up to the panel display, a large diagram with thousands of fine lines wove and connected to each other. The most noticeable label on the diagram, mixed in with headshots, mugshots, crime scenes and the red lines connecting them all, was one bold label: **ALLELE**.

"It's this ridiculous spiderweb of connections," Santana said as she pointed, tracing the various lines. Iris and Xion followed her gaze, slowly connecting the dots. "Like this death, he was the web developer for Zentrix, Inc., the competitor for Allele's pharmaceutical front. He was also the winner of Development World's hackerthon four years ago. I suspect that, in his employment, he stumbled upon something he wasn't supposed to."

"Or this one," Santana's movements were abrupt and rapid. "International genetics research lab, producing enhancements and cures for ailments, including some of the things that Allele was aiming for."

"Yeah, but what does that mean?" Xion asked slowly, tracing each connection with his eyes.

"And what does that have to do with Eric?" Iris finished his thought for him.

Santana stood up and paced the room. "I can't know for sure and these are just hypotheses," Santana said slowly. "But I think it means they need to eliminate competition. With thousands of students that graduate each year in each division of engineering, their competitors are now on par with them and they're slowly digging their own grave. They're literally cutting the competition now, with these murders and crimes. It's not as direct but I've traced all the articles back to the Allele and their recent fluctuations in stock. And I'm sure their board is not happy with that."

Xion slammed a fist down triumphantly. "Then this is the time to bring it all down!"

Santana shook her head, her dark locks falling gracefully around her shoulders. "We can't know for sure, not until we look further into it." She pursed her full lips as she thought about how to best approach it.

Iris narrowed her eyes slightly, looking at Santana through new eyes. Something about Santana was different. For all the time that she had known and loved Santana as her own blood and flesh, Santana always walked with her desires up in the sky, like if she could sprout wings, she'd fly away, forever running from her own demons. But now, something in Santana wanted to make roots, to hold onto an anchor like it was her lifeline. Iris suspected that "something" had blond hair, green eyes, and a look that could read Santana like a book."

Santana continued, "You said last time you were tracking Victoria Askobar and Andrew Greenfield. I need you to cross reference their whereabouts on the dates of the crimes. Xion, I need all of our medical histories, including all of the deficiencies and flaws. I'm going to compare it against the specific advances that the stupid researcher at Allele who never locks his computer has been reporting." A fire engulfed her eyes, giving her an intense glare, full of determination and love. She let the thought that was on everyone's mind spill from her lips: "I don't know what this has to do with Eric…"

But before either could answer, Neil came stumbling through the door, doing his best to simmer down from the giddy feeling that Brittany managed to give him, the fullness of Santana's presence and the indisputable command of her stance, the slight challenge in her upwardly tilted chin immediately sobered him up. That look in her dark eyes, glowing with ferocity, meant business and a serious ass-whooping. Needless to say, they were worked through the night, searching everywhere for their lost brother.

* * *

It was late when Santana headed out.

After they had planned out every strategic move they could, every possibility to finding Eric, Santana ran through the city, shedding off the tension in her shoulders through the burning in her legs.

She ran gloriously, trying to disarm every monster in the night. Fighting faceless criminals who left a trail of pain mediated the pain she felt in her own heart, like there was no wall between her heart and the heart of so many broken people. Most people seemed to be able to shake off other people's pain. Sure they shed a tear or two for sympathy's sake' but quickly forgot. But not with Santana. Their terror, their fears, sadness, hope, devastation, they stayed with Santana like unwelcome companions in the night.

_A right hook._

And the sadness lifted a little.

_Her left fist landed with a crunch._

And she could breathe again.

A metal crowbar flew out of nowhere, striking her back but not putting her down. She growled something ferocious before an elbow, a knee, and a final kick put down another criminal.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Each blow was precise and calculated, leaving behind a trail of unconscious bodies. Iris had tagged along, mainly to make sure Santana wasn't being excessively stupid or aggressive, though Iris lied it was because she felt anxious about Eric, too. When Santana decided to be done for the night (for not all victims can be saved in one night, despite what she tried to tell herself), she tore away to her mountaintop, the skyscraper she always watched the city lights from. Iris could barely keep up.

When her sister finally climbed over the edge, she found Santana with a particular expression on her face, a mix of contradicting emotions. Iris sat next to her, placing her fingers over Santana's hand. They silently watched the darkest time of night give into the inevitable rise of the moon, a pale blue taking place of dark twilight.

"We're going to be okay, you know," Iris interrupted their silence. "In the end, I mean. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, Tana, but we're all going to be okay."

Santana nodded because Iris sounded only a little bit more convincing than her own voice did. She leaned into her big sister and let the words wash over her mind, slowly rinsing her clean of anxiety. She sent her thoughts out into the universe, looking up at the sky, wishing for some sign that Eric was okay, that they were really all going to be okay.

By the time Santana got home, her heart beat rapidly in her chest, enough to make her feel dizzy and light-headed. A bruise was struggling with her genes, trying to paint a streak of purple across her back but she could feel the unnatural genes in her refusing to cooperate.

When she came back to the apartment, dawn was barely trickling over the cityscape, streams of light orange and yellow spilling in through the windows. The blond had wrapped herself in the sheets, almost completely obscured except for the bare ivory shoulder, a calf, fingers still in view. All the logic and rationality that made Santana a brilliantly calculative person shot out the window when she looked at the source of her irrationality, looking peaceful and beautiful in her bed.

She felt the breath slowly escape her lungs in a sigh as she slowly crawled up into the space next to Quinn.

That's the thing about unexpected intrusions of beauty in the muddy backdrop we call our lives: they have a tendency to leave you breathless. Santana fell asleep with Quinn's faint scent of jasmine lingering in the dreams she couldn't remember when she woke up.

* * *

Quinn woke up first, which was unusual, since Santana didn't seem to sleep often, if at all. So when she looked over and found her curled into a fetal position facing her, Quinn held her sigh of relief, afraid to wake her. She tried to make minimal movements as she pulled out of bed, slipping out of the covers as gracefully as possible. Which, of course, meant she wasn't graceful at all and stumbled to find the floor.

To her relief, though, Santana was deeper in sleep than usual.

Quinn made her way over to the kitchen, trying to make tea as quietly as she could. She placed the kettle over the electric stove, watching the circle underneath the kettle light into a dim red and thinking back on the past few days.

Santana fit into her life so easily and seamlessly that it was somewhat alarming. Being with Rachel was different; she made her demanding presence clear and obvious. There was always an understudy out to get her, a cast party, late rehearsals. Those things let Quinn live her own life and attach Rachel's life like a sidecar, a companion but clearly just a sidekick to take up her free time so she didn't need to think about... well, Santana.

With Santana, it was different. Rachel may have been the sidecar that was attached, however uncomfortably, but Santana was the engine, the steering wheel, the tires, the GPS, and probably the internal stereo system. She was as much a part of Quinn, which was why when she left, it felt like she took away her heart with her. Not that romantic sappy heart but literally, her blood-pumping heart, the one that kept her feeling like she was living.

So Santana's seamless entrance back into her life paralyzed her. It was unnoticeable and necessary as the air around her, her body wholeheartedly embracing Santana like oxygen.

The kettle whistled, and Quinn quickly pulled it away from the stove, pouring the steaming water into a mug, watching the water turn from clear to a translucent shade of green. She cupped her palms around the mug, letting the warmth seep through the walls of the mug and melt her terror.

She brought the tea to her lips, letting the scent wash over her before slowly, so slowly, sipping on the scalding water.

Iris had told her something last time over dinner, when she caught Quinn watching Santana laugh with the others over something she couldn't even recall now. She had said it in a lowered voice, like it mattered too much to be said in any other manner: "You know, she puts a lot of effort to stay unread." She didn't have to say that Santana's willingness to be honest with Quinn was unlike Santana and it would take a lot more effort than usual to hide from the blonde.

The hot water left a burning trail along her tongue and down her throat. But it also warmed her body, its heat radiating as it trickled through her body. It didn't strike Quinn until she was humming with contentment how much of loving Santana was the same: the fiery being that could burn her but also warm her from the inside out. This was the conversation she carried in her mind lately, going back and forth on how to love Santana and why (or why not). Her reflex, after all these years, was reel back and tuck her heart safely in herself, untouchable by anyone.

It was impossible to recognize that by trying to pull back, she had already fallen for her.

* * *

_Hey, guys,_

_Sorry for late update. I keep starting to write and then feeling discouraged so it's been a slow process (and is probably also why this chapter is a bit shorter than usual) even though everything is pretty much mapped out. Thank you for writing such lovely reviews, though. Each one helped me write a little more and I decided to finally post it. Seriously, as genuinely as I can say to each and every one of you, thank you._

_Also, I'm probably going to go back to the old chapters and consolidate some of the older ones into one chapter, just a heads-up, in case, you guys re-read the old chapters._

_Hope the new year is treating you well. Leave some love & reviews and as always, happy reading!_

**_C._**


	32. II: Perfection

**II: Perfection**

* * *

Eric gripped her by the throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp for air and grey dots float in front of her eyes. Her feet grazed the edge of the building, the harbor breeze licking her heels. She could still hear the ocean crash against the side of the building.

"Eric, stop," she choked out, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. She clawed at his forearm holding her up, muscles flexed with anger, veins emerging like road lines on a map as he held on tighter and tighter. "Eric, it's me."

He didn't recognize her face. In fact, his face showed no recognition of anything. It was like he was erased from the body he inhabited; in place, there was nothing but Allele orders.

* * *

_5 hours earlier._

"Are you sure?" Santana spoke into her headset, holding her towel tightly around her. Puddles gathered at her feet. She had just stepped out of the shower when her phone rang. It was a call from Michael Seers, one of the two men she had a photoshoot with last week called her, asking for a reschedule on their individual shoots.

When she asked why, he explained, "Our sister company in Thailand has a security breech."

"What kind of breach?"

"I'm not sure, it seems like someone broke into our VPN network and stole some files. We have reason to believe our perpetrator is still on the premises but I can't be sure," he spoke frantically, panic shattering his usually well-composed nature. Thirty-year-old billionaires had a way of holding their cool; if he was losing it, it was something serious. Michael Seers was more than composed, which was why his distress made her more suspicious. "The investors won't like this so I hope you understand that this is a private matter and I would appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself."

"Of course," Santana reassured professionally. But an eerie feeling crept over, sending a chill down her spine. "We'll reschedule for next week, when it's a better time for you."

They quickly hung up, both distressed by different aspects of the same problem. Santana gripped onto her towel and reached for her bodysuit with the other, all the while staring at her phone as if willing someone to call her and give her all the answers.

"Are you going somewhere?" The voice, melodic as a flute, reached out from behind her.

Santana turned to find Quinn, tugging her white coat over an olive dress that hugged her just enough to come off classy and professional… with a sexy flair. From a completely objective point of view, of course.

"Yeah, just got something to check out." Santana turned around and held her towel close to her, struggling to slip on the bodysuit without showing bare skin.

Quinn rolled her eyes and laughed as she turned away, "It's not anything I haven't seen before, you know." She tried to lighten the mood but when she looked through the mirror and saw Santana's bare backside, she stifled a sharp inhale. Instead, she focused on putting a small black jeweled stud in her ear. Quinn was sure not many people had the chance to appreciate the soft dips of Santana's backside, the two sharp edges where her shoulder blades moved under her tenuous skin, a smooth caramel landscape. Not as many chances as Quinn did, at least.

Santana pulled her arm through her dark bodysuit, her skin completely covered by a thin but durable fabric that moved like it was her skin. Santana offered it to Quinn once, letting her feel the texture of a "crime-fighting bad-ass superhero suit," as Brittany had put it. It was slippery as oil without any of unpleasant residue; Quinn's fingers grasped for the suit that seemed to be constantly moving away from her.

Quinn stretched out an arm and placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling her move like liquid after. It was meant to come off as friendly but her hand paused at their contact. Santana turned with a hint of surprise for her expression, confused. Quinn quickly rebounded, "Um… am I going to see you later?"

Santana smiled, reached for a quick and completely platonic hug, to Quinn's slight disappointment. The kiss she placed on Quinn's creamy cheek, however, was longer and lingered. "Of course." Her breath sent an entire different set of chills down the blonde's spine.

* * *

It wasn't long before Santana was slipping into the storage room of Michael Seers' recently-breached building in Thailand. _Michael Seers will thank for me this later_, she convinced herself as she looked at the badge she clipped slyly off an employee. She had no evidence to justify grounds for her current intrusion into his company but she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was happening here.

And it clearly was, because less than twenty seconds later, an alarm blared overhead. "Please approach the nearest exits," a voice announced overhead. The voice sounded almost amused but not the crowd of people that moved quickly along the hallway, under the the glare of red, flashing lights, as it appeared through the doorway crack. A stampede of footsteps pounded vibrations through the floor, leaving Santana to feel every individual footstep as their heels quickly hit and left the floor in fast-paced footsteps. Santana ducked behind a shelf, even though the entire storage room was empty. She crouched slowly to the ground, placing a hand on the cold linoleum floor. No vibrations, no sounds, no echoes, nothing. In a few moments, everything faded away into silence.

Except for two pairs of light-footed steps.

Something moved so swiftly that it almost sounded like a hum; Santana tuned her hearing close enough to separate how rapidly two pairs of feet hit the floor to make such a sound. It moved away from her, moving upstairs and away. Under her hand, she felt vibrations so light that it could have been a rainstorm of feathers.

The whole building was silent except for a few. There was a careful shuffling ten floors below while two pairs fluttered upstairs lightly. The shuffling belonged to a SWAT team, that was easy to tell. _Well, that only leaves one other option_. She poked her head out the door, carefully assessing where the nearest stairs were; she would need them to climb up and follow the two people who were clearly heading for the roof. _  
_

The air was still inside the empty hallways but it whistled as Santana sprinted through, blasting towards…. The roof?

Quiet mutterings came through the metal door that separated Santana and Michael Seers' intruders. Her hand trembled with anticipation as she lightly touched the door knob. For whatever reason, probably the same one that sent an eerie feeling after Seers' phone call, Santana's heart thudded with both weakness and anxiety.

The door swung with a quiet _whoosh_.

She could recognize that mess of black hair standing over the edge, making her stomach drop. The woman next to him, definitely a woman, had familiar curves and chestnut-colored hair; she was gripping onto The black-hair man slowly turned and looked at Santana with an indifference that shot straight through Santana. _Eric_.

The woman turned, a glint of glee in her eyes. _And fan-freaking-tastic. _"Hi, Lauren, fancy meeting you here," Santana snarled. "I'd ask for the recipe of that dessert you made for dinner but, hey, it looks like you're a little occupied."

"Don't come closer or we will have to hurt you, Omicron-42," Lauren's voice was not as sweet as it was over dinner just a few weeks ago. Her voice was a little monotone, even. She seemed almost inhuman, save for the triumph in her eyes.

"Formal, are we? I don't think you've been kind enough to share your identification," Santana sneered, mustering all her anxiety into sheer venom. She took a step towards their direction. "I mean, I know Sigma-12 over there," she looked pointedly at Eric, who showed no recognition. "

Lauren fell into position. "Lead Sigma-12, you will address him with the respect of his position."

"And you are? Moron-24?"

"Phi-53."

"And seriously, you're the lead now? So we're playing with Allele now, eh?" Santana laughed humorlessly and watched Eric, who stood stoically. She took a careful step towards him. Her sweet brother, the one who laughed like a little boy when she tickled him, narrowed his eyes suspiciously, watching her steps with an impassive calculation.

"Omicron-42, step back. We will carry out our orders," Eric's emotionless voice cut through her like a hot knife, searing and sharp. "If you stand in our way, we will hurt you."

"Like you could, little brother," Santana said almost wistfully. She weighed the options carefully, trying to avoid hurting him. She made the step towards him, at which Lauren bolted forward and leaped at Santana.

Santana twisted to let Lauren hurl inches over her, turning to grip her by the ankles as Lauren jumped towards and over her. A quick flick of the wrist caused a quiet _crack_ that thundered in only two peoples' ears. Lauren stumbled onto the cement rooftop and crouched as she turned, grabbing the left ankle that Santana snapped broken. She hissed, showing more emotion than she probably meant to, "Go to hell."

Santana smirked, "After you." She heard a light pair of feet rush at her and turned to find….

Eric grabbed her by the neck faster just as she turned, grabbing her so hard that he ended up pushing them towards the edge of the building. He held her there momentarily, his eyes dark with indifference. Eric gripped her by the throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp for air and grey dots float in front of her eyes. Her feet grazed the edge of the building, the harbor breeze licking her heels. She could still hear the ocean crash against the side of the building.

"Eric, stop," she choked out, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. She clawed at his forearm, flexed with anger. "Eric, it's me."

But it flickered away for a moment, just long enough to give Santana hope. She whispered desperately, "Eric."

Lauren staggered toward them from behind, a good forty feet between them. Eric's eyes softened, looking into Santana's eyes, searching for answers, questioning at the same time.

Eric jerked her forward by the neck, pulling her down and towards him. His knee landed in her stomach, quickly and decisively. Eric crouched towards her face, hearing Santana groaned at the pain. _Prick_, she thought. _This isn't Eric_. Eric wouldn't crouch just to hear pain spill out from the lips of his favorite sister (his words, though he made her promise not to tell Iris). His next words shut down any doubt, though. He whispered quietly and closely: "Remember to listen."

_Eric? Are you there?_

And then he shoved her off the edge, hurling towards the ocean.

Anticipating the painful crash, Santana's mind flickered towards a safe haven: Quinn. The blonde's smile, her melodic laughter, the way she bit her lip, how she tucked her hair back always with her left hand. She remembered the emerald fragments in her eyes, the intense look that saw straight through her, tearing down the walls faster than Santana could build up.

And the crash never came. Instead, flecks of seawater reached up from the two feet of space that separated with her and the ocean. She hovered a good distance from the ocean.

_I'm flying._ Santana's eyes widened with surprise. _For fucks' sake, I'm flying_.

She stretched a hand and dipped her fingers into the ocean from where she floated. If it were any other circumstance where her brother hadn't just chucked her off of a building, she would have laughed; she summoned a small smile, mainly because of the lingering effect of Quinn on her mind. Santana flipped over, facing the ocean as she rushed, her fingers skimming the ocean water as she headed back to Sahara. She was wondering how she felt about Quinn before but now, feeling lighter than ever, she _knew_.

_Quinn._

* * *

"Anyway, I told Wesley that he needed to step up his performance or I'm going to cut him," Iris said as she leaned her head back into Xion's lap. He stroked her hair absentmindedly as he watched the characters move on the television screen without really watching what was happening. "And he was—Neil, are you even listening?!"

Iris whipped around and chucked a magazine at Neil, completely distracted and giddy over text messages. Brittany was telling him about one of her dance partners in their upcoming production, which is set to tour in three months. Neil glared, "I'm good at multitasking, and honestly—"

_Crash. _

Santana crashed through the front door, nearly breaking it off the hinges and making the other three bolt up, ready to attack whatever intruder broke their front door.

"God, Tana!" Iris exclaimed, clutching her chest with a dramatic flair that would have made Rachel Berry proud. "Intrusive much? And holy shit, what happened to you?!"

Iris sped over to Santana, concerned about the hand-shaped bruises around her neck, a sliver of which was not obscured by the dark bodysuit. She didn't know how much worse it was under the suit. Iris repeated urgently, "What the hell happened?"

Santana waved it away, "I'll explain later. Quick summary. We got shit to do." Iris kept pressing her tender bruises, resulting in her hands being swatted away. Santana continued breathlessly, "Lauren, as Eric's Lauren, is Allele. Eric is with her, I just ran into them." Their eyes widened but Santana didn't stop: "I'll explain later. I need you to pull all the Allele files as soon as possible."

"Okaythanksbye!" Santana was heading out the door faster than she came in, leaving behind three very stunned people. Xion's composure was cracked with disbelief at her words; Neil was still trying to process what she said.

"Where are you going? You just dropped a bombshell and you're heading out?!" Iris exclaimed.

Santana turned around and grinned, "Iris, I can _fly_. I know it doesn't make sense and I just dumped everything on you guys right now but I have to go find Quinn. I'm going to come back tomorrow." She stepped out the door, "Iris, I'm going to get her."

Iris forgot her disbelief for a second, her hands clapping with excitement. "Finally! Go," she urged. Before Santana left the hallway, she called out, "But I demand all the dirty details tomorrow!"

* * *

_Cinnamon_.

That's what Quinn was thinking about when it happened. Particularly how Santana used to smell like cinnamon, like she was constantly chewing on Big Red gum or sucking on cinnamon Altoids. But it struck her now, after weeks of running into Santana, that the woman didn't leave a lingering scent of cinnamon. The woman she had known had only traces of the girl she once knew, completely unfamiliar and yet, at the same time, like they had known each other all their lives and beyond this life.

It had been a long day at the office. Three adolescent patients dealing with clinical depression, an adult struggling with change, a family grief counseling session. The black hole of dark feelings seemed infinite but Quinn felt proud to be doing her part in closing that black hole.

She wasn't going to lie, though: it was really exhausting on days like today. Her own thoughts felt jumbled, like it was left under a food processor and blended in with the patients' thoughts and feelings. Coming home to Santana's bed, to the spaces that Santana occupied, helped recharge and restore her. Quinn leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to extract her own feelings from her patients' and the only thing she could recognize as completely her own was a warm love for Santana she knew and a genuine curiosity of the woman she became in their time apart.

Trying to stop loving Santana was trying to stop the sun rising: a completely inevitable force of nature. A kiss from some days ago started opened the dam of pent-up feelings.

That was why when Santana rushed through the door, wordlessly searched and found Quinn in her kitchen, grabbed her by the wrist, and sat the bewildered blonde on the sofa, Quinn felt a stir of emotions that she, for the first time in a long time, embraced wholly with arms wide open.

Santana gathered Quinn's hands in her own and held them gently. "I need you to listen," Santana laid out the first condition explicitly. Santana had made a decision in the entire six-minute flight over the Atlantic Ocean but she thought about this for the past ten years. She set Quinn on the sofa and sat on the coffee table across her. The words that she would say, the things that would happen, how her life would be different.

Quinn became alert, keenly aware of the strange sensation that something was about to change. She glanced at Santana with concern. Whatever Santana had to say must have been important because the brunette inhaled and exhaled a breath of nervousness. Santana's raspy voice came out serious and despite how determined she sounded, her voice shook a little, "I'm a genetic cocktail of messed-up. Some of it is Allele and some of it is just purely me. Sometimes, I want to run around the world three times and then some. And sometimes, I want to curl up in a ball with ice cream and watch TV. I'll leave the bed unmade and the toothpaste cap off if I'm in a rush, which I almost always am. I can't sleep most nights and when I do, I know I have night terrors that would freak anybody out. I'm impatient and stubborn. There will be days when I'm obsessively focused on one thing, one hobby, one book, something, and fixate on it. I'm stupidly single-minded about my goals at times. I'm clumsy when it comes to words and feelings." She paused to inhale.

And slowly, Santana held up their hands until it was between them, slowly intertwining their fingers. "But I don't feel anything but perfect when I'm in your hands."

Santana brought Quinn's fingertips and kissed them gently. "When these fingers touch me."

She let go of the blonde's hands and ran her hands up Quinn's arms, sending shivers in her spine. "When these arms hold me."

She brought her two hands and cupped Quinn's face, looking earnestly into the only pair of eyes that seemed to have ever really seen her, "When you're looking at me and really seeing me."

"You told me once to love myself and that meant to fight for my happiness. And today, I felt _happy_ when it mattered most. And it was because I was thinking of you."

"So I'm fighting for my happiness; I'm fighting for _you_. I'm asking you to give me a second chance even though I don't deserve it because I need you. I want you. I love you. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure that I make up for everything I've ever screwed up. If I'm going to lose you, it's not going to be because I was stupid enough to let you go again. I lived my life without you long enough and –"

Quinn's lips came crashing onto Santana's, cutting off her words and surprising the brunette with the force of her desire. But Santana pushed back hungrily for the lips that she thought about for far too long. They forgot about breathing as they tasted each other's lips.

"Say it again," Quinn whispered against her lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Her hands clawed at Santana's back, trying to draw her closer. _I need you, too_. And that's what was the scariest part, that she may need someone who didn't need her back. To love someone who didn't love her enough to be completely fine if they walked away.

"I need you." _Kiss_. "I want you." _Kiss_. "I love you." Each word was a promise, a reassurance. The kisses that interrupted Santana's sentences conveyed more about Quinn's importance than any combination of twenty-six letters haphazardly strung together to forms words could possibly convey. These weren't tender kisses you see in the movies; they were hungry, desperate kisses, the kind that was shared by two people who were only half of themselves when they were apart.

Santana reached under Quinn's legs that wrapped around her waist and lifted her, never breaking the contact of their moving lips. Somehow, she found the way to the bed, relying on her body's memory of direction because her heart and mind were completely occupied by the pair of lips caressing her own. They landed clumsily onto the sheets, Quinn's back pressed firmly into the mattress, Santana's palms keeping her from collapsing onto the blonde. She kissed the blonde fiercely, and each time their lips broke apart, even just for a millisecond, Quinn felt all the desire in her body like a parched thirst.

It was nothing like the tender kiss they shared a few days ago that left questions on their minds. This wasn't a questioning kiss; these were answers. These were _I-love-you_, _I-want-you_, _I-need-you_ kisses. If they didn't say enough, Quinn's fingers pressing into Santana's outer thighs were. The blonde reached her delicate hand around and slipped off the bodysuit as Santana tugged off Quinn's top, unclasped her bra, and pulled at her jeans. Their bare skin kissed, searing each point of contact, nothing but laced bra and underwear separating them.

Body on top of body, limbs tangling.

When they were teenagers, they fumbled through the joy of exploring each other's bodies. Now, years later, they moved expertly, anticipating and understanding each other's desires as their own.

Quinn felt like her skin was on fire, completely alive and aware of each sensation. Like the way Santana kissed just below her jawbone. Or how the brunette left a trail of light kisses from her neck to her sternum, pressing her lips against each delicate rib bone along Quinn's side.

Santana leaned back to look into Quinn's eyes, lit up with desire that had been reserved for so long.

Quinn watched Santana carefully, observing Santana's reaction. She could practically hear the gears turning, every instinct telling Santana to run and for a split second, Quinn wondered if she would. The blonde reached up and pushed back the dark locks, staring into eyes that never seemed to end, the ones that invited her to spend the rest of her life figuring the only puzzle that mattered. "You are so beautiful," Quinn breathed, washing any traces of doubt. They _both_ wanted this.

Santana bent and kissed her fiercely, her hands quickly tracing down Quinn's frontside. Her fingers grazed at Quinn's hipbone, hesitating to leave neutral area until Quinn dared with the full force of her craving, "Do it." Santana's hand dipped lower, sliding along Quinn's wet core until she hit the spot that made Quinn moan her name and squirm under her. Even when their kisses were fierce and aggressive, making up for lost time, Santana was gentle as she delicately traced along Quinn's core, sending chills and adrenaline coursing through the blonde.

When she placed a finger at Quinn's entrance, she watched the blonde, flushed with heat, rosy in her cheeks and her blonde hair messily pushed back. Quinn lifted her hips just enough as if to give her consent and Santana pushed in, her fingers working magic. Quinn gasped at the sudden presence, her wetness allowing Santana to easily slip in two fingers.

Her nails bit into Santana's backside as she moaned her name, delicious to Santana's ears. Even as she jerked Santana closer, Santana observed Quinn's pleasure, audible in her voice. Santana moved her hand to a steady rhythm, slowly building up.

Quinn was lost in her body, her hips rolling against Santana's hand, her chest pressed up against Santana's. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, her lips trying to gather enough air to function. It only occurred to her later that in all the time they had spent apart, in all the partners Quinn had, she spent so much time comparing her to Santana. Somehow, Santana raised that bar.

A pressure built like a leaning tower in her pit. Quinn climbed higher and higher, feeling herself close to falling over any time. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling herself pulse around Santana's hand. It felt dangerous to wander so close to the edge of her consciousness.

But Santana was rocking into her. There was nothing she wanted more than to see Quinn utterly and completely satisfied, to make Quinn happy. She had been selfish enough to walk away once; she wanted to be selfless for the rest of her life with Quinn.

Quinn had to convince herself, _this is real. This is real._

It was when Santana leaned in, pressed her lips against the corner of Quinn's open mouth and whispered, "I love you," that Quinn opened her eyes to see Santana looking back with a complete contentment and love and felt her body burst into the billion sparks of fireworks. She clenched around Santana's hand, her thighs pressed against each other as the coil inside of her snapped.

"Ta- Tana," she moaned what she could of Santana's name, laced with such _yearning_, her body shuddering and jerking underneath Santana. The blonde felt any fear rush out of her body, because Santana was there to catch, gently holding her as she rode out her orgasm. She arched into Santana, who held her and lifted her slightly off the bed.

Santana buried her face in Quinn's neck and whispered against her skin reassuringly, "I'm here, I'm here," as Quinn held onto her, letting the waves of pleasure subside slowly.

Quinn climbed down, unwrapped her tight arms from the grip she held Santana with, and finally took in a shaky breath, watching her vision focus again on the brunette hovering over her. Santana's lips pulled into a soft smile, generousness sparkling in her eyes. Her dark eyes, speckled with hazel shards, were infinite before; now, Quinn knew that depth to be Santana's capacity to love, to care, to feel. Quinn pulled Santana towards her, gathering the only person she ever knew how to love in her arms.

Santana never felt more whole, more _perfect_. And Quinn quietly murmured, "_We're_ here."

* * *

_Hey, all,_

_This love scene was a long time coming, eh? A muse visited so I had it ready pretty quickly. As they get into more of this established relationship, perhaps more scenes like this, we will see. Hope all is well with you, wonderful readers._

_Leave some love & reviews, and of course, happy reading!_


	33. II: A Slow-Dance into Your Heart

**A Slow-Dance into Your Heart  
**_This chapter is probably the real reason for an M rating. Proceed with caution (and/or pleasure, whichever works for you)!_

* * *

Quinn swept her arm in the space next to her, looking for the warm body to press herself against and finding only empty air and a pillow. She drew her legs close to her body, curling into herself for warmth that normally Santana would provide.

_Where do you keep slipping away to, _Quinn silently asked the empty space next to her as she felt the warmth in the soft embedded dip left behind by a body the blonde naturally curved against. Santana couldn't have been gone too long...

The blonde slipped out from under the sheets, wearing only Santana's thin cotton shirt over her bare body. Quinn loved feeling Santana's skin pressed against her own, under their blanket, their contact like a reassuring whisper in the dark. The chilly air of the vast apartment hit her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and making her all the more eager to find Santana.

Quinn found her girl in a swivel chair, huge headphones clamped around ears, the kind that blocked out noise. Santana's fingers drummed against the tabletop quietly, the machines in front of her beeping and buzzing almost inaudibly. Quinn leaned against the pillar she always disliked just off to the side of their loft; right now, she was grateful that it was there to hold her up. She would have melted into a puddle, otherwise, at the sight of Santana, so intensely focused on whatever was coming through those headphones. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she walked over and slipped her arms around Santana's shoulder, leaning forward to press her cheek against Santana's, her upper body flattening against Santana's backside as she did.

"Hey, you," the blonde gently spoke. Santana felt Quinn's lips perk into a small smile against her cheek before she spun Santana's chair around so that they were face-to-face. Santana's headphones dropped from her ears to circle around her neck.

There was something about Quinn at night that was striking. Her green eyes, with golden flecks, were clearer and more daring. Her blond hair seemed brighter in the moonlight, giving its own sheen. Quinn's lips looked rosier and more inviting. Santana felt like she was always experiencing Quinn's beauty like it was the first time seeing her. It was like falling into the ocean: hitting the hard wall of water and then, slowly, lazily, drifting in weightlessness.

"Hey back," Santana leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Well, my cuddle-buddy disappeared at..." Quinn glanced the digital clock on Santana's desk. "Damn, at three in the morning. What are you even listening to at this hour?" She pulled the headphones from Santana's neck and placed it around her own ears. There was no sound but all outside sounds were muted. "This is what you left bed for?"

Santana grinned as she replied. But Quinn couldn't hear her words.

"WHAT?" Quinn unintentionally yelled. Every sound came muffled, through her ears, even her own voice.

Santana pulled off her headphones from Quinn's ears and put them on the desk, the wire hanging off the edge. "I said, your ears can't hear it because they can't pick up that frequency."

"So it's like superhero secret language." Quinn frowned, wishing she knew what was whispered through those headphones.

"Or just a sound that only certain genetic experiments and dogs can hear," Santana chuckled. "Bitches only, but don't worry, I'll make sure to tell you all the secrets." She carefully cupped her hands around Quinn's ears, making sounds barely muffled and warming Quinn's ears. Quinn placed her hands over Santana's as she stepped towards the seated brunette.

Quinn smiled mischievously as she placed one leg and then another around Santana, straddling Santana's hips in the swivel chair. She leaned forward, making Santana's heart flutter with anticipation, like it so often did around the blonde. Quinn pressed her lips against Santana's neck, whispering as she kissed her just below the jawbone, "What were you listening to?"

Santana laughed, feeling her heartbeat pulse against Quinn's soft lips, "Eric," she stifled a gasp as Quinn pressed into her heartbeat. "Said, uh," Santana tried to gather her thoughts. Of course it was hard when Quinn's hands quickly found their way under Santana's shirt, grazed against her ribcage. "Um, he told me to listen." Santana found herself slightly resenting the thin cotton barrier between their bare touch.

"Listen? For what?" Quinn pulled back to look at Santana's face. Her green eyes were clouded with concern.

Santana pouted for a minute before Quinn gave her a certain look of impatience and amusement. Santana continued, "Well, just before he threw me, he told me to listen. That couldn't have been Allele; it was all him. He's telling me to listen to the frequency he used to communicate before." She swiveled back around so that Quinn's back was pressing against the table, still straddling Santana, now facing the screens and machines. "I'm listening until he tells us."

"Tells you what?" The blonde ran her hand through Santana's dark locks.

"To come to Allele," Santana considered her words.

Quinn pressed her lips as she thought for a moment. She gazed at Santana, admiring the fiery glint in her dark eyes, focused with all the intensity one could muster. The blonde smiled, catching all the brightness in the room in her warmth, as she leaned towards Santana. "Well, what if," she pressed her lips against Santana's lips. "For now." Her lips moved across Santana's cheek, feathering small kisses. "You come to bed." She whispered huskily, her warm breath in Santana's ear sending chills down her spine, "With me, of course."

Well, with those words, there was no saying no.

Santana swiftly lifted both of them, barely touching the ground as she sped their still-tangled bodies back to the bed. Quinn barely blinked when she felt the cushion of the mattress catching her backside, Santana's lips capturing her own.

As she fiercely kissed Quinn with all the desire of a hormone-ridden teenager, she murmured against Quinn's lips, "I'd go anywhere with you."

* * *

"Oh my god," Iris shoved Quinn's shoulder. Hard. "Sorry," Iris looked genuinely apologetic, under all the glee on her face. "I was just excited. You totally had sex!"

"What!" Quinn exclaimed, suddenly self-conscious. Was it written across her forehead or something? "How could you know that?" _Santana better not have permanently inked that onto my forehead_, Quinn thought as she touched her forehead self-consciously, even though she knew that Santana wouldn't have done that.

"Sweetie," Iris grinned, placing a hand on Quinn's forearm, careful not to knock over Quinn's cup of coffee. Iris insisted on taking Quinn out for lunch once a week and the blonde couldn't help but feel grateful. It was like being slowly initiated into Santana's inner circle. Iris was always excited to see her and was so generous with her friendship. Quinn suspected because besides Brittany and Santana, her two best friends were Neil and Xion. And then saving the world every night was a busy job. "I can practically smell the hormones off of you. Wait, scratch that, I _can_ smell it," she grinned as she taps her nose, her way of bragging her enhanced sense of scent. Quinn blushed, realizing that Iris probably could, in fact, detect it with her not-so-human sense of smell. Iris reached out and poked the spot just past Quinn's right collarbone, "Also, you have a hickey."

Iris laughed as Quinn glanced down to see a dark red spot, barely in the line of her vision. _It kind of looks like an almond, _she decided as she touched it affectionately. It was literally a mark of Santana's love, which is kind of gross but... kind of sweet. _At least it's not a bite mark_, Quinn silently thanked heaven, remembering how Santana bit into her shoulder to keep from moaning loudly enough for their neighbors four apartments down to hear.

"Soooo... are you guys back together now?"

Quinn's lips perked into a smile before she could even stop herself.

"Yes!" Iris nearly shouted, pumping her fist in front of her. She simmered down, although it was on her own terms and not because everyone else in the brunch cafe glanced over with concern. "Okay, good, that girl never knows how to be selfish and go for the things that she loves."

The blonde glanced her eyes at Iris, her emerald eyes swiftly piercing through Iris like they always do. She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hesitantly asking, "Loves?"

Iris nodded without pause, rolling her eyes, "Well, of course, what did you expect? She hasn't stopped thinking about you since, well, you know, like a million years ago," Iris shook her head. "Santana is smart, like freakishly so, but sometimes, she is so dumb," she remarked with all the affection and pride of an older sister.

_Loves. She loves me,_ Quinn reveled in the knowledge, bubbling from her stomach until it reached her face with a smile, lighting up even the corners of her eyes with a particular sparkle. The glimmer stayed with her through the rest of the work day.

* * *

"So that's the exact transcript," Santana declared as she slid three folders across the smooth surface of the table at the rest of SNIX sitting down attentively. "By memory, 'cause you know, I'm brill." She flipped her hair dramatically for effect.

The room went silent as the others read through the conversation that Victoria Askobar held with Andrew Greenfield last week on transporting the assets' now that they "fixed the flaws," as they had put it. It seemed that Greenfield was the deliveryman; Askobar, then, was the chilly director in charge.

"The variations in their flaws are caused, it seems, by the developmental noise that is unique to each one," Neil muttered under his breath as he read aloud. Santana picked at her nails as she half-listened, half-recited in her mind. Eugenics, the word alone made her flinch, but that's what this was all about in the end. A battle to prove to be the genetic superior. _Sorry to disappoint, mother dearest_, Santana thought bitterly in her mind, thinking of how disappointed Victoria would be to find out how flawed they really were. "The DNA messages specify only the set of decoding rules and manufacturing processes, sixty four possible triplets."

As she waited patiently for her siblings, Santana's thoughts turned over to Quinn. The blonde left for dinner with Brittany just as Santana left for her nightly meeting. She needed to get out of the apartment and see people other than Santana, she commented, smiling because they both knew that they had hardly left the bed, let alone the apartment, unless absolutely necessary. Quinn rushed home after work and Santana finished her photoshoots as quickly as possible, even though some models lingered to catch a conversation with the beautiful photographer who was completely nonchalant and immune to their beauty. SNIX continued on, even giving Santana a brief break to indulge in her loveswept life. Not too long, of course, given that Eric had just brutally and mercilessly threw her off a building and Lauren only turned out to be a pawn in the game that Allele seemed to play. _Some fucking twisted game_, Santana decided in her mind.

"Okay, so basically what it's saying is that the research is complete and they've located a variation of a cell that adapts to adjust the flaw," Iris concluded, looking up at her sister, who looked beautifully bored. Santana nodded. "You couldn't just tell us that? That was ten minutes of my life I'm never getting back, Santana Lopez!"

But Iris was grinning. This was the moment they were all waiting for. Xion could only produced temporary relief without the blueprints of their DNA but Allele, oh Allele, had put together the solution. Santana considered what this might mean: no more heartaches (physical ones, at least), no blacking out, no bleeding out to death. The only heart flutter she would have is from thinking of Quinn's... well, Quinn's everything, really. For the others, it meant being able to walk, run, dance, whatever, without the feeling that something terrible could happen any minute.

Xion looked up, running his hand through his thick hair, sighing with relief. "I can't believe it, Tana," he smiled, completely content in the knowledge. "This really might be over soon."

"Believe it, big brother," Santana quickly responded, the joy edging into her voice. It was hard to sound normal these days; there was always a smile."

"But what about Eric," Xion asked quietly, their temporary excitement quickly sobering in a somber mood.

The three turned to Santana, who paused before answering. She inhaled, taking in a deep breath before continuing, "Eric... I'm waiting for communication from him."

"Santana..." Iris said with a warning. The warning was apparent in her voice; it said, "Don't get your hopes up." It told her to give up on her little brother, who was clearly long gone.

"You don't understand," Santana pleaded quietly, her dark eyes softening just enough to be persuasive. "He's not gone, I promise. He's waiting for the right now."

Neil lowered his voice, as though he was afraid to shatter Santana along with her hope, "And what if he is, Tana? You know they've had him for weeks now. You don't know know what they could have done to him."

"No," Santana refused to even hear him out. "It's not, I promise you."

Iris sighed, "Well, either way, we need to have a plan soon."

"We'll get in touch with the other teams," Santana decided, quickly pulling up a list of contacts and formulating a draft of the email. "I'm going to send them communication that the end is nearing."

Iris smiled softly, reaching over to squeeze Xion's forearm, "It really is happening, isn't it..."

"It will," Santana looked up, confidence radiating off of her expression and posture. "But until then, we need to still be taking care of the world, you know."

"Right, well, the American Embassy sent reports last week..."

The night wore on, new plans were drafted, assignments given. But in each of their movements was a renewed enthusiasm, knowing that the battles weren't done but the war was nearing an end.

* * *

"You need to fucking stop getting shot, Santana Lopez," Iris demanded as she clutched onto her sister, stemming the red pouring from Santana's shoulder with her palms. Iris' hands seemed to be getting stained by red too often these days.

"The best shield is an Allele body shield," Santana joked as she grimaced. Iris pressed a little harder, edging the pain a little more, to make a point.

Something about Santana was reckless and daring tonight. It wasn't just the tinge of happiness she carried herself with, Iris wondered as Santana's glare fixed on something just over the ledge of the roof they stood on. Neil and Xion took a long run, crossing over to the east coast for the rest of the night. Santana wanted to coast up San Francisco because something called her that way; usually when something called Santana, there was trouble stirring in that direction. It was like she had a sixth sense in her bones that Allele didn't put in all their beloved products.

And she was grimacing all night, as she pushed through the city, bolting so quickly through the crimes that Iris could hardly keep up. Santana snapped a nose of a petty burglar, stopped six gunshots, knocked out a thief, stopped the meticulous execution of an armed robbery, and more; she blazed through the crimes...

Like...

Like...

Like she was running away from something. _Is it Quinn? _Iris dismissed the thought before she even completed a possible scenario in her mind in which Quinn would be a problem. The blonde fixed Santana in a way that Iris never knew was even possible. The Latina had run like something heavy in her mind weighed down in her muscles, in her bones; now she barely touched the ground as she ran, a new lightness in her body.

Santana told her about flying, even showed her her renewed abilities. _No, it's not Quinn_, she decided.

Santana pushed at Iris' hands, like she was trying to squirm away from the only thing that was pressing down the blood. She was a shipwreck right now, a splintered mess of beams and bodies, struggling to stay afloat. Santana was getting lost in the space of her own mind and Quinn was the only anchor she had from scattering into an unforgivable mess in every direction. The blood was slowly stopping, clotting the hole. It took a little longer than usual for Santana's skin to seal, longer than before. Iris was grateful that the cures were in the very close horizon.

Iris pressed on for her own reassurance, even though Santana clearly wanted her to stop. As though she didn't want to be saved. The grimace on her face said it hurt but she was acting like she wanted to feel that pain.

As though she thought she deserved it.

As though she shouldn't be saved right now.

Only hours later, long after Santana stopped bleeding...

When Xion climbed into bed with her and quietly mentioned their earlier conversation...

And his face distorted into an expression similar to the one on Santana's face right now, though infinitely less intense at the mention of Eric's name...

Only then did Iris realize why Santana ran like hell was after her.

Guilt. It was guilt that Santana ran with all night and it was guilt that she was trying to run away from. It might as well have been hell.

* * *

"They don't believe it, Q," Santana confessed to her blonde better-half. They laid in their bed like two parentheses, their bodies facing each other, hands lazily tracing different curves and dips. Quinn didn't even realize she was drawing small circles along Santana's upperarm; Santana knew, of course, since the touch was electrifying, every nerve on her arm alive at the soft touch. "But I know he's still there. Eric is stronger than that."

"Mmm," Quinn mused. Santana had always been headstrong and stubborn... but she had also been right more often than not. Santana's instincts, Allele or not, were sharper, like she had spidey senses tingling in the back of her mind. And even now, the serious look in those dark eyes said that she was telling the truth as the world knew it, no bias and no emotions. That concentration, the one that made a line between her furrowed eyebrows, was all the blonde needed to be convinced. "If you believe it, then I believe it," Quinn finished her thought aloud.

Santana looked back at her, a little surprised. She had expected some sort of challenge, partially because her own siblings were so keen to disagree. But when her dark eyes met those emerald ones, she knew that Quinn did believe her, not just because the rationality (which may have been a little absent) but because Santana's word meant something to her. Trust was a fickle thing but not now, not here, not in this space between them.

"Thank you," Santana responded quietly, sounding genuine enough to really strike Quinn.

Quinn smiled, touched by the rawness of Santana's state, the transparency of her emotions tonight. "I know what you need to feel better," Quinn suggested as the idea struck her, pulling Santana out of bed by her hands.

Santana laughed, letting herself be tugged in any direction that the blonde wanted. She was swept up by scent of cold cream that Quinn liked to put on after showering, the jasmine and green tea that lingered in her hair. Quinn pulled her by the arm, drawing her close until their bodies were flush against each other.

Nothing like moving solved things for Santana Lopez so she gently pushed their bodies into a slow dance.

"Hmmm," Quinn hummed some melody or another into Santana's ear, so quiet. Santana was sure that the blonde would feel her heart thrash wildly in her rib cage. The blonde managed to make her feel giddy like it was a first date with someone she had crushed on for so long, her heart excited and ecstatic. Quinn was the only heart attack Santana ever found herself wanting.

The blonde smiled, feeling Santana's body relax against hers as they slow-danced around the loft to their own song. Her clear voice rang quietly in the apartment, intended only for one pair of ears, though thousands of people would have been soothed by the sound. Santana perched her head on Quinn's shoulder, soft cheek meeting delicate collarbones. Their arms looped heavily around each other's waist, their bodies swaying slowly. _I like dancing with you_, the blonde confirmed in her mind, wanting to stay in this moment forever when she felt like she could solve Santana's tension.

"It's not just that Eric could be God-knows-where-now with that bitch of a woman," Santana murmured now that she was a little calmed by their swaying, pressed bodies. Quinn knew she just needed to say these things out loud, in a way that she couldn't confess her fears to her siblings and still be able to lead them. "It's that I should have been there to protect him. I should have suspected Lauren. I should have seen this coming."

Quinn waited patiently, knowing that they weren't at the root of it yet. If Santana had a sixth sense about the world, Quinn had the sixth sense about people; she also probably had a seventh sense about just Santana.

"And then I think..." Santana's voice wavered as they approached the real thought, the real root of the root. "Maybe I'm the monster that Allele wanted to make, to be so careless and so reckless with people I love." She pulled back a little, like she wanted to protect herself from being loved by Quinn; it hurt to have love she felt like she didn't deserve. "I did it to you," she quietly sighed the heaviest thought as she drew inwardly.

"Hey, hey," Quinn gripped her tightly, not letting Santana get away from her so easily. Santana resisted weakly before leaning back into her. It was a testimony to how much power Quinn had over Santana, the way Santana couldn't reel herself inwardly fast enough, the way she drew out the things she buried deeply in herself, the way Santana wanted no one else's comfort but Quinn's. "You are nothing like what they intended for you," she responded fiercely, her words with a new force. "You are Santana Lopez. You are beautiful, smart, kind, compassionate, no matter how snarky you try to be so you can hide all that. You can be all those things and none of them, if you don't want to. You deserve to love and be loved, most of all by you. Until the day you believe it, I'll be here to remind you, okay?"

Quinn pressed her lips into Santana's with the forcefulness of her conviction; it spoke volumes of how much she wanted Santana, of how perfect she thought Santana was, heart failure and all. Santana stood stunned for a moment; then, just then, did the ice inside of her begin to melt at the touch of Quinn's kiss, full of reassurance that words could not even begin to describe. And Santana responded, pressing back with her own lips and a renewed conviction that if this angel could love her, then she couldn't have been so bad after all.

Quinn's warm breath became labored as they stumbled back towards the bed, never breaking contact, breathing in each other as their oxygen. Quinn let her wants bubble to the surface, now transparent as Santana's silent fears and guilts. If this was the only way to convince Santana exactly what she thought of the most perfect woman she had ever met, then she would bare her thoughts, splay them out with no hidden cards.

_This is everything I have for you, everything I feel for you_, she thought as she pressed kisses along Santana's neck, stopping only to suck gently as her pulse point. Quinn's fingers tugged at Santana's clothes, pulling them off as they fell onto the bed, Quinn gliding smoothly on top of Santana's body. Their curves pressed and fit in a way that would make anyone understand that people are jigsaw pieces, made for another piece to fill that missing part.

Quinn quickly shed her own clothes without even thinking about it. She only wanted her cream-colored skin pressing against that dark landscape, the tones and colors that made her think of coffee with milk poured in. Santana was caffeine, awakening and electrifying to Quinn's tired body.

Pink lips trailed kisses down Santana's body, eliciting muffled moans from her. Every nerve was on fire in a new way, this touch so different from any other time. Quinn traced a line down Santana's sternum with her tongue, thanking Santana's body for taking care of the woman she loved as she did. Her hands palmed Santana's full breasts, feeling her nipples harden under her warm, massaging palms. Santana moaned louder, unable to hold onto any control of her body when Quinn took control.

Quinn dragged her hands down, feeling Santana's ribcage like they were rungs of a ladder. Her body slid down to the core of Santana's heat, admiring and tracing the spaces that were underappreciated with her lips. A tongue grazing the ridge of Santana's sharp hipbone, lips slowly pressing kisses along her inner thighs, teasingly close but not close enough. Quinn's confident hands caressed Santana's shapely, shaking legs.

"Tease," Santana accused with a sigh as Quinn dragged her lips closer and closer.

The blonde smiled, knowing how much Santana loved and hated this. But the time to tease had passed so she grazed her tongue along Santana's entrance, earning herself the sounds of pleasure tumbling out of Santana's lips. It took all of the small brunette's willpower not to buck her hips unpredictably; Quinn used her palms to press down Santana's sides, like she was holding her from falling apart. _Too late_, Santana thought as she felt herself melt into soft clay in Quinn's gentle hands, malleable to the blonde's touch and will.

Santana was lost in the rippling sensations of her body when she felt Quinn's lips pull away, a whine slipping out from her mouth almost immediately. But Quinn swiftly came back up to press her lips against the pouting mouth, the taste of Santana still in her mouth. Santana didn't even noticed that Quinn's slender fingers lightly touched where her lips were only moments earlier. In one decisive moment, one of the blonde's fingers slid into Santana, a gasp escaping against their pressed mouths.

Her palm working circles against the most sensitive part of Santana as Quinn's hand drove in and out of her with a steady pace, the blonde watched, completely enraptured by Santana's pleasure, her dark hair plastered on her forehead, half-lidded eyes, like she wasn't here in this world. Santana's hips rolled against the steady rhythm, a pressure building in the pit of her stomach. Quinn slipped in a second finger, letting that pressure build and expand, swallowing Santana whole.

Then that pressured slowly lowered from the pit of her stomach, until it met Quinn's hand.

"I love you," Quinn whispered against Santana's cheek, hot breath ghosting along Santana's face.

And at the confession of the truest truth that Quinn knew, the stitching of what held her together when she was apart from Santana, the brunette's body exploded, crashing waves of pleasure rippling through her body. Quinn felt Santana tighten around her hand and drew her close, holding her lover steady as Santana squeezed her eyes shut, lost in the ocean that was Quinn.

And in her hands, fingers curling inside of her, Santana felt like poetry, an entire work of art, a masterpiece. As she climbed down from her orgasm, now fading into the sweet aftermath of calming silence, Quinn pulled her and held her tightly, limbs tangling.

"I love you," Quinn repeated, perched on her elbow and combing back damp strands of Santana's hair from her face.

Santana looked over at her, her gaze soaking in the angel wrapped in the sheets next to her, holding her, and knew it, too. Guilt was nowhere to be found. "I love you, too, Quinn Fabray."

* * *

_Hello! Sorry for the delay! A thousand apologies, dear readers. Let's just say this was heavily inspired by the Quinntana goodness happening. Also, I wanted to practice writing these kinds of scenes so hope you don't mind. It's not all fluff, there's important in this text, I assure you._

_You've all been so patient so I've been pushing through this chapter. I will try to stay on top of this better. You are all amazing and so so so encouraging, thank you! I am mentally sending you all good vibes and virtual hugs, dear readers._

_Leave some love and reviews! _

_C._


	34. II: Come Back To Me

**II: Come Back To Me**

* * *

"Welcome to..." Iris paused for dramatic effect. "Saint."

Iris swept her arm in the downward direction of the stairs to their destination.

She climbed the rest of the spiral steps and let Santana, Xion and Neil walk down past her. Iris gave an encouraging smile and a jerk of the head towards the direction they walked when Quinn hesitated to enter this space. Quinn accepted it happily and gingerly stepped into the space. Iris was only a few steps behind.

It took an entire secret doorway and a spiral staircase to get to this place. _So this is Saint_, Quinn thought as she observed the expansive area before her.

"I love it," Santana said simply when her gaze swept the space before her. Iris beamed.

Impressive would be the understatement of the year. It was like one large warehouse room expanding out before her, so far that it made Santana almost ache for the closed space that she shared with Quinn. It definitely had a woman's touch, specifically Iris' taste. The walls to the left and right of her exposed brick, something that Iris loved; she always commented on the walls of Santana's loft. Sixteen widescreen panels were in set along one wall, four by four screens. A large conference table was right under it, allowing for video conferences.

The lights ran with bright circuits, electric blues and greens, across the ceiling, not too bright but just enough for their eyes to adjust being underground. It gave the exact tech effect that Iris loved in her own office. Around the edges, closer to the brick walls were warm spotlights.

"Brick is nice, right?" Iris patted the wall affectionately. "Don't be fooled, though. They have titanium-enforced lined inside. Soundproof, radioproof, unless it's transmitted outdoor."

In the far end, there was a caged section of wall: a display of their weapons behind crisscrossing black metal. It was lit up by spotlights from below the display. SWAT HK machine gun, Ak-74, NVM Assault Rifle, revolvers, pistols, silencers. Swords, daggers, blades, glaves and chakrams. Neil always liked having a Beretta M9, formally Pistol, Semiautomatic, 9mm, strapped somewhere, giving him an odd bulge usually on his left arm. Xion had his doctor's precision with him when he used a M24 sniper rifle, slung over his backside; not all occasions called for it, though. Iris kept a slim stiletto dagger on her thigh, a Lara Croft-style pack. Santana never needed anything, being fastest, strongest, and most graceful even among SNIX; she had a certain feral eloquence, a swift blur that could dance circles around anyone. Her nimble body could eliminate someone without any assistance. A snap of the neck, a stopped heart, an aneurysm; it was so easy to kill and Santana had a graceful execution,

To their immediate right was something entirely different, though. It was almost a cozy corner, a recreational space that was big enough to have its own kitchen and an eclectic collection of couches and futons, layered with pillows and blankets. A long cherrywood table for eating or doing their professional work. There was even a small kitchen set up with a ventilation system from what Quinn could see. A few shelves adorned some of Quinn's favorite books, even.

Iris turned to her and smiled, "I know you wouldn't leave Santana alone for long so I thought I'd make a good space for all of us to enjoy when we're here when we don't have to be. And plus, I can't forever eat takeout. We need to cook more during our midnight conferences," she said as she looked pointedly at Neil, who always wanted a burger from In-N-Out for dinner.

The middle was a roped sparring ground with a padded floor, punching bags just off to the side. It was slightly elevated, giving a stage-like appearance. "And we can lower a cage around it, if you wanted," Iris commented, following Xion's upward gaze to the hovering cage.

Neil tackled Xion, grabbing him by the waist, in a rough wrestle, as though to make use of the sparring ground. A moving blur and they were already inside the ring, the sounds of their rough punches and attacks echoing in the space. Santana rolled her eyes with a cool jadedness at Iris, who looked a little miffed at the commotion. At this point, though, Quinn could read the glimmer of affection in Santana's eyes, even under the jaded mask.

A white circuit ran along the edges of the room, providing more outlets than six Starbucks put together.

"Please, please, please," Iris begged in a dramatic manner that would have made Rachel Berry proud. "Don't have sex all over the place."

Quinn blushed, the idea permanently seared into her mind.

Santana smirked, "I can't promise anything," she said as Iris huffed. "But I will promise to make sure everything is sanitary and sterile after." She winked. "Okay, boys, let's work."

Xion and Neil looked like little boys who were just told to go to bed early, reluctance in their eyes, their hair disheveled. But they didn't bother to argue; everyone wanted to find Eric as soon as possible. They brushed their pants, getting up. Quinn wanted to laugh at the sight. No matter how many times she saw Xion out of work or at work (they did share adjacent offices, after all), it always threw her off to see his completely different personas. On one hand, he was a completely professional pioneer in his field. On the other, he was Santana's protective and yet, immature older brother. Neil's charming personality was consistent, at least. And Iris, well, she couldn't be more excited. Literally, she really probably couldn't be more excited without imploding. Even looking at her now, the petite woman was clapping her hands excitedly, so proud of her handiwork with Saint.

"You don't have to stay," Santana said quietly to Quinn, approaching her with a hand on the small of her back. "I know you wanted to review some research papers before your appointment with Tessa."

It always astounded her, the way that Santana remembered all of the things she said, even when her own brother's absence was causing worry. Quinn smiled and placed a hand on the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. "Already brought them," she replied, giving Santana a quick kiss on her cheek. "Go on, go save the world."

Quinn was about to walk away towards the couches set-up but Iris grabbed her by the arm, "Hey, come with us. Sit with us. We won't be too loud or anything, I promise, because you can't deny that you are one of us." Iris pointed at the large conference table.

It was only then that she realized there were more than four chairs; they made a seat for her at their table.

* * *

"Thank you, Quinn," the young girl beamed at her and hugged her around the waist. Quinn was happy to see her progress so quickly through her problems.

"Of course, Tessa," Quinn held her for a moment and let her go. It built a sense of trust between the two to be on first-name basis. In some ways, Tessa reminded Quinn of Santana at that age, all walls and superficial talk. Pulling a genuine conversation for a teenage Santana was like wringing water from a dry towel.

Tessa's mom reached for her and placed her arm around Tessa, leading her away. Quinn smiled at their mended relationship. It's a work in progress but Quinn was happy to play the waiting game, if it meant that Tessa was going to be more open and feel less vulnerable and insecure. Her mother gave her a grateful smile before they stepped onto the elevator, Tessa waggling her fingers as a goodbye.

"Another satisfied patient, Q?" Xion observed as he leaned against his doorway, sipping on a cup of coffee, only a few feet away. Quinn glowed at the compliment; Xion really was the top of his field and his professional respect meant more than he realized. There was only one person's respect that mattered more and currently, she was out in an abandoned waterpark by Lake Dolores, taking pictures for a client's rebranding campaign with models whose bodies must have been genetically engineered to perfection. Quinn surprised herself by how not worried and not jealous she was; somehow, she _knew_ Santana would come home to her.

And she was still bathing in the aftermath of Xion's compliment. "Yeah, she's been doing great and her relationship with her parents are getting better," she commented, still staring at the elevator doors, now closed.

Tessa's smile, eager and genuine, reminded her of Santana in elementary. The tiny brunette, even tinier back down, shared such a close relationship with her parents, the way Tessa's relationship with her parents were slowly becoming.

Quinn asked rhetorically to the air around her, more quietly but not enough to be missed by Xion's ears: "What happened to Santana's parents?" Xion's thinking hum reminded her that she was not alone.

Quinn shifted her gaze to him, curious to his reaction. When she saw his hesitation, she quickly retracted, "No, not like that. Sorry, I didn't mean to ask." She didn't mean to ask him; she wanted to hear it from Santana but she had said the question out loud.

Xion smiled, his genetically perfect white teeth in two perfect rows. "No, I know. I was just thinking..."

Something told her that he was thinking of his own family and she realized she knew nothing about their lives before SNIX. Curiosity got the best of her. "But what about you guys? You guys grew up with families, too, didn't you?"

Her words unhinged him just slightly, throwing Xion off his composure. He hadn't thought about them in a long time, not when he felt incredibly lucky to have the three people in his life. Iris often slipped about how much she disliked Allele's signature in her eyes, those hazel flecks that served like Victoria Askobar's personal signature on their DNA. She didn't realize that Xion loved her most when he looked into her eyes, when the gold sparkled backed at him, because it was then he realized how all the odds were stacked against them and yet, they managed to find a way to be together. The odds of escaping Allele, the odds of having found each other, the odds of falling in love, the odds of living a life where he was able to come home to her everyday.

So he hadn't thought about the number of foster homes that he lived in or the number of faceless parents he had. Most of them shared the same kind of background, a broken home with broken families. Allele had done more than ruin just their bodies. Xion cleared his throat and looked straight at Quinn, "We all came from pretty broken homes. I think that's what makes our relationships to each other so strong. All of us were, in a way, very desperate to be saved from our lives. My college basketball career, Neil's swimming, Iris' hackathons, they were just temporary solutions until Santana managed to find us, bring us together, make our own little family tree."

Quinn smiled unconsciously at Santana's mentioned name and deed. But it also tugged a quiet question, one she saved for the woman she would see later that day.

Xion looked at his coffee, now cold in his cup. He glanced back up at Quinn and smiled warmly, pulling himself together as he continued, "It's probably one reason why I really love your work. Why Iris and Neil praise you for your work when you're not around. They've read all your research papers, you know. I think we all understand exactly the kinds of people you help. Even though we run around and physically save people, the worser demons are inside the minds."

The blonde's creamy cheeks gained a rosy tint at the words.

Xion concluded as he straightened himself, "We couldn't be more proud to have someone like you in our family." He turned and left, leaving Quinn with a certain elation bubbling in her chest. She _belonged_, there was a place she _belonged_.

* * *

"You know that's freaky, right?" Iris commented from Quinn's office doorway.

Quinn looked up, looked back at her hands, and laughed. She spun the Rubik's cube adeptly in her nimble fingers. Only a few colors didn't match up... yet. Iris walked over to her desk and sat down in the chair across the desk, watching intently as Quinn refocused her attention on the multi-colored cube.

The quiet in her office was only interrupted by the soft _switch, switch _sounds as Quinn matched the last of the colors.

A Rubik's cube always comforted her, the way every part of it was a puzzle that had a concrete solution. Mathematical formulas that made spaces fit together. In residency, med school, or even in undergraduate, she couldn't work hard enough to forget Santana; there was still a loud void in her ears. The air around her, no matter where she was, seemed to breathe her absence. So came the Rubik's cube, something that fit easily into her hands and had problems that could be solved, a mystery that had an answer.

A Rubik's cube was sectioned off. This color went here, that color went there. The tiles swapped around comfortably in her hands. In college, it helped her understand the anatomy of the human body better; every part of the body had a space it belonged to, like the sides of a Rubik's cube. Every part had a function to the body, like the color to a tile of a Rubik's cube. It didn't make sense to many people but it made sense to her.

Quinn's furrowed brow eased and she placed it on the desk, satisfied. It wasn't difficult to solve anymore but it was still nice to have.

"Like I said, freaky," Iris laughed.

"I bet you could do it better than me," Quinn smiled, knowing that her IQ was literally off the charts.

Iris shook her head. "I can solve math, I can write code. But spatial ability isn't something that comes easy to me... or to any of us, really. Except Santana, maybe. It takes a trained eye to see certain things."

Quinn shrugged, her blonde hair coming to rest gently on her shoulders. "Santana always said it was weird, too."

Iris grinned. "I guess there's some things that real people will always be better at." She stood up again, holding onto her messenger bag. "I thought Xion was going to be done for a dinner break but I guess not. I'm going to go to Saint. See you there?" The statement was more of a question.

Quinn had spent a long time in Saint, alongside the operations they routinely ran. Tactical strategy was familiar to her ears now, the efficient movements that helped SNIX run through certain blueprints, certain cities. In her own mind, she divided up the places she saw into the tiles of a Rubik's cube.

But tonight, she shook her head. "Santana wants to eat together tonight. We've both been swamped. This is actually the first time in a while that I've been able to go home without work."

* * *

"Taste this," Santana said as she leaned over the island counter with a spoonful of something creamy and yellow. A savory scent of something delicious wafted in the apartment.

Quinn placed her wine glass down and sipped, Santana's eyes watching her carefully for a reaction. "I don't know how to react," the blonde hesitated. Santana braced herself. "On one hand, I don't want you to get full of yourself," Quinn smirked. "On the other hand, that's one of the best things I've ever tasted."

"You suck, Quinn Fabray," Santana turned but not fast enough to hide her pleased expression from Quinn. "It's lemon orzo soup with chicken," she answered over her shoulder.

Quinn watched Santana move around the kitchen, throwing in this and that in the pot in front of her. The brunette had always been striking, there was no doubt about that. But with time, Santana really had a more reserved beauty hidden in the details. Quinn watched the dips of her muscles across her back, the sharp curves of her shoulders, the way her shoulder blades gave her toned body a kind of delicacy that urged Quinn to come around and trace her fingers along the edges of her shoulder blades.

Santana laughed at the touch, "What?" She asked as she turned around to find Quinn's body inches from her.

Quinn grinned. She began to hum Katy Perry's Teenage Dream as her reply, earning herself a soft slap on her arm from Santana. Santana chuckled, "You're ridiculous, you know?" She turned back around to check the food.

"Nope," Quinn looped her arms around Santana's waist and rested her chin on the brunette's shoulder. "I'm just ridiculously smart."

"I won't deny that, valedictorian," Santana quipped, moving them away from the stovetop. She spun in Quinn's circling arms so that they face each other with their hips pressed, like a figure that split and became two people from the hips above. Quinn's lower back pressed against the countertop.

Quinn would normally reply. Or blush, chuckle, hum, something that indicated she was an active part of the conversation. Santana would feel her response before she actually did: a slight swell in her body that would indicate a conversational reply, a slight purse of the lips that would say that the blonde was formulating a proper response, the quiet breathless way she would laugh very quietly. Right now, though, those green eyes looked at her and straight through her.

Santana cupped Quinn's face with her two hands. "Hey, hey," she murmured. "Come back here to me." Dark eyes searched emerald ones. Quinn blinked her eyes, as if clearing her mind of her thoughts. "What are you thinking?"

What was Quinn thinking? She was remembering of the night that they were pressed like this against the desktop, on top of a stack of Allele files. The framed photographs of a little happy Santana that sat on the desktop, around the files that changed both their lives more than they liked to admit. How the gleeful expressions of that little girl were unrecognizable at the time and how Quinn saw it now every day, in between sorrow and guilt. She was wondering whatever happened to Mr. and Mrs. Lopez, the question that stayed with her after talking to Xion.

She placed her slender hands on Santana's shoulders and let them drag down as she formulated her words, watching her hands trace the silhouette of Santana's body. Santana let her, knowing how it reassured Quinn for some reason, like it did something to convince her that Santana really was in her hands, her skin and bones under Quinn's palms. And she waited patiently for Quinn to come back.

"I was wondering..." Quinn said aloud so quietly that the words met no resistance with the air. "Whatever happened to your parents." Her hands stopped at the sides of Santana's waist.

She felt the brunette stiffen under palms, enough to indicate her tension. Santana couldn't look at her, not at the eyes that cared for her immensely, and be able to talk without emotions thrashing from the inside of her ribcages.

"They," Santana cleared her throat. "They left that letter."

Quinn knew immediately what letter Santana was talking about. There were only few things that escaped Quinn's memory and Santana and anything Santana-related was not one of them. She remembered the way teenage Santana leaned into the bed, sinking into the sheets. Santana had just finished apologizing for the burden she thought she was, for shutting Quinn out, for being unpredictable.

But Santana remembered the way Quinn kissed her, the touch of her lips that reassured her. Santana thought of the words that stuck with her for so long after they had separated: "You don't ever have to apologize for who you are." Quinn's words sat inside her heart, heavy with truth. Santana mulled over the words for many years, responding differently at different periods of her life. Sometimes, the words angered her; sometimes, they perplexed her. It was only later, after SNIX formed, after she found who she was, after Santana grew more comfortable into her skin, that she realized those words were a present after all.

"'I hope, that one day,'" Santana recited the words from the letter. "'You have the experience of sacrificing the things you know for someone you love and the great adventure they could take you through.'"

Quinn let Santana take the much-needed pause in their conversation. She waited with the same kind of neutral patience that encouraged Tessa to open up to her. She waited, even though it would be more instantly gratifying to take Santana by the shoulders and try to shake the answer out of her.

Santana walked backwards in her memory, retracing steps that had been long abandoned from her thoughts. "They were the last honest words we exchanged. I mean, they continued to help me financially but our brokenness wasn't something that we could really recover from, not with the truth in the open now."

She cleared throat, focusing her gaze on the blond hair she weaved her fingers through. "They died in a car accident halfway through my first year of college. They left me everything, which let me fund my own interests long enough to find what I wanted to do career-wise at least. And then Iris came for me." Quinn knew what came after Iris entered the picture, how Iris had gathered up the pieces of Santana and put her back together again. That Xion and Neil weren't too far behind. The life they would build in Sahara would been intertwined enough to keep Santana relatively intact as they ventured deeper into Allele secrets. In the years before Quinn re-entered the picture, there was someone who held her hands as Santana's heart literally skipped long enough to knock her out, a person to leave her food and a note, someone to keep her company. They may not love Santana in the same way that Quinn loved her but there was love, the kind of that had been ripped away from Santana much too early, and Quinn couldn't be more grateful to the little family that Santana had made for herself.

The family that Quinn was apparently now a part of. Eric's absence occupied a larger void in her mind than before, because it was a part of her life now.

It gave her a better idea of where Santana was at, mentally, with Eric's kidnapping or whatever it was.

Quinn leaned forward to kiss her forehead, her warm lips pressing against Santana's skin. Santana closed her eyes and relaxed into the touch.

A burnt scent hit her suddenly and Santana spun to rush back to the kitchen. The soup had burnt, the blackened bottom swirling into creamy yellow.

But a musical laughter trickled across the room.

When she glanced back over to Quinn, the blond was holding herself, laughing openly and happily at the sight of Santana pouting, loving the way that a soup meant so much because it was just one way to express her affection for Quinn. But it was mostly the way that Santana had rushed to the kitchen, a blur of a figure with the kind of comical panic that would only be seen in a cartoon.

The laughter was contagious. Santana smiled and threw her hands up in the air. "So, takeout?"

Quinn reached out to grab Santana and placed a fierce kiss, crashing their lips together. Santana felt dizzy; from the force of Quinn's affection or that effect she just seemed to have, she didn't know. "Takeout," Quinn grinned. "Indian, this time please."

* * *

The light-hearted affection barely lasted through dinner. The takeout cartons placed in bags, dishes washed, Quinn flopped into their sofa. She watched Santana pick a bottle of wine from the wine shelf, looking for a white wine that Santana had picked up in New Zealand last week, something about the pear flavors that drew her again and again. She gave a tiny jump when she found it. Quinn loved the way that Santana slid her fingers between the stems of two wineglasses and held the glass with a delicate nonchalance, a cooled demeanor that was so natural and so damn sexy.

Santana grinned as she walked over. The smile was interrupted by a dark expression danced across her face. Quinn barely caught it; the blond tightened her grip on the sofa in the split-second of warning she got. The wide-eyed look in Santana's face said this time, this time, something was different; something was wrong. Santana's breath hitched, her hand released the glass, a sharp shatter breaking the serenity of the apartment as the glass met the hardwood.

The events blurred for Quinn after, coming to her in sounds.

The sound of Santana's body hitting the ground, a firm sound.

The sound of glass crunching under her feet as she rushed over to Santana's thrashing body.

The sound of ringing as her phone dialed Iris.

The sound of her voice, laced with panic, a somewhat incoherent explanation spilling from her lips.

The sound of their footsteps stampeding in through the door less than a few seconds later.

The sound of Xion's voice as he tried to explain and carry Santana's body out.

The sound of her hiccuping breath as Iris held her tightly, the two of them watching Xion and Neil rush Santana over to Saint, where they would do something, _something_, that would fix her.

"Come back here to me," Quinn wanted to repeat Santana's words at the body that separated Santana's heart from hers. Xion and Neil were already out the door.

And the sound of silence as Iris held onto her, for Quinn's sake and her own.

* * *

The air was cool when Santana woke up.

And slightly damp.

Like they were underground.

With her eyes still shut, Santana pressed her palm against her temple, a pounding that was accompanied by a ringing.

"Tana?" Neil's voice reached out to her.

Santana blinked her eyes open, finding blue eyes, with interruptions of hazel, peering at her with concern. "Good, okay," Neil sighed a breath of relief. "Don't do that again, thanks."

Santana started to get up but Neil gently pushed her back down. "We need you to stay down a little longer. For me, if not for you." He grinned with boyish charm, almost masking his worry. Almost.

The seconds came to her backwards, like a string of events being pulled from her memory from the most recent to the oldest. She remembered the shatter of the glass, a panicked look on Quinn's face just as her fingers went lax and the glass slipped, the shaky steps she took towards the sofa with a bottle of white wine and wine glasses in hand, their conversation.

Her voice came out hoarse and raspy, "Quinn?"

Neil rolled his eyes. "Of course you wouldn't ask about yourself first. Damn, will you please be selfish for once? You're starting to make me feel crummy." He grinned at the sight of a weak smile of her face, weak but genuine all the same. He answered her question, "She's fine, though she did get a little cut up from the broken glass. She was practically lying on it, next to your body." When he caught a glimpse of Santana's expression, he quickly reassured her, "But Iris got the glass out, she fixed her up, bandages and everything, and even made her tea."

Neil glanced at his phone, re-reading Iris' text message: "'Everyone taken care of in this end.'"

She smiled and leaned back. Neil continued, "Xion is coming back in a sec. I think he just went to grab your labwork."

True to his words, Xion walked through the door, reading files at hand. He looked up to see Santana and Neil watching him expectantly. "Good, you're up," he took a moment to show relief before he got straight to the point. "Your bloodwork is showing your body is changing, again," he said with exasperation. "The thing I can't wrap my head around is that you, Lauren _and _James are supposed to be all omicron. They are responding well to the medication prototype from Lara that I've worked with but I don't know why your body is reacting differently constantly. It's driving me insane."

His frustration rang loudly in Santana's ears. "What now?"

She couldn't read his expression, an unfamiliar look of helplessness. But Santana knew that it probably mirrored her own helplessness. There wasn't much she could do to fix herself.

"Now," Xion replied apologetically. Xion was used to being able to do more. That was the point of becoming a doctor for him, a masked hero by night: you save people. But here was the one person he wanted to but couldn't save. Santana looked at him with the eyes of a baby sister, needing some sort of reassurance or solution. Helplessness did not suit her. "We have to finish this with Allele."

* * *

_Hello! Sorry for the delay. I'm back! Probably with more consistent updates, too. We are approaching the end, soon and soon, dear readers. Isn't that crazy? And thank you for all the lovely reviews/PMs; they are my consistent reminders to finish writing it out. I know how this ends and I want to share this with you (of course). I hope you've all been well during my hiatus. This isn't my favorite chapter I've written but it was very necessary. _

_Leave some love & reviews and happy reading!_

_C. _


	35. II: A Lesson in Waiting

**II: A Lesson in Waiting**

* * *

In two weeks and three _torturous _days, Quinn learned that there are two kinds of waiting.

There was the waiting that had a definite timestamp. Like at 10:33AM, the bus would arrive. The hardboiled eggs would be done in eight minutes. The movie would start at 9:50PM. Patients would arrive, coffee would be served, subways and buses would come and go. Life would continue because it operated on the ticking arms of a clock; Quinn spent her life learning to tolerate that kind of wait because she could see the end of that wait approaching.

But in the two weeks and three days since Santana had gone missing, Quinn learned there was a kind of waiting that hollowed out her chest and made an emptiness wide enough to fit the Pacific Ocean and then some. It was the kind of waiting that may or may not be infinite, vague like a clock that had no arms so she never knew if the end of the wait was approaching. Quinn had an idea of what she wanted at the end of that wait but she would be grateful just for that end to come, let alone fulfill her wishes.

So when Quinn woke up two weeks and three days later, she swept her arm across the empty space next to her bed. It had been long enough that Santana's imprint in the mattress faded away. Quinn left her hand on the space anyway, imagining what it was to have her warm shoulders shifting under Quinn's palms, the bed moving as Santana scooted closer in her sleep, the quiet humming she did when she was sleepy but awake.

The orange vial sat on Santana's nightstand, just a few feet away from Quinn. From where she lay, she could see the small white tablets that Santana would take every morning. Then Santana began to have increasingly severe seizures. When that happened, a small pen-like syringe took a permanent place next to the pill bottle. Xion had put Santana back on injections, instead of pill-popping. "The medication works more quickly and effectively once it is directly put into your bloodstream," he had told her. The brunette cringed at the sight of the syringe and Quinn had to remind her to do it every morning.

Their lives returned to normal on some level for a few weeks. Well, as normal as their lives could be. Quinn went to work, helping save people from their own monsters, and some nights, she brought work home. Those nights, she sat in Saint, reading and writing case files, while SNIX bustled around, saving the world from its own monsters. Santana would unconsciously reach for her hand while they sat around the conference table, discussing this and that. Allele came up more and more often as the four of them discussed how best to approach the institution without the risk of losing all their DNA blueprints in the destruction. Their DNA would solve each of their genetic problems, Quinn learned, because Xion, with the help of Erica in Peru and Stephen in Thailand, could map out the flaws in their genes and supplement it. Quinn began to recognize each sibling as she spent more time.

Santana and Quinn would go home. They would make love on the sheets, on the counter, against walls, on sofas, the floor, any surface area that would support their searching bodies. Their limbs would find each other in the darkness, urgent and desperate with wanting. Quinn would fall asleep, relaxed and content with the pace of their lives. In the morning, she would find Santana by the radio system, headphones engulfing her ears. Quinn would place a cup of coffee and Santana would look up and smile at the blonde, adorned in only in a thin cotton t-shirt that always smelled like Quinn's skin.

Santana would go to work, an earpiece tucked in her ear, always listening for Eric's sign. Santana would come home, bags of camera equipment slung over her shoulder and an excited gleam in her eyes from a successful day of photography. She won a few awards and recognitions; Santana downplayed it but Quinn quickly found that Santana was leading one of the nation's most innovative creative team in the industry. The awards sat in a cardboard box behind her technology equipment, lost under the stacks of research papers (both Santana's and Quinn's), dust settling on the recognition that mattered so little to Santana.

And even though their lives embraced each other wholeheartedly, Quinn had always felt the threat of Allele, the dark storm cloud loomed overhead, in the back of her mind. She knew, some day, their lives would plummet through the thin ice they skated on.

That day came two weeks and three days ago.

When Quinn came downstairs and found the headphones and earpiece on the tabletop but no Santana.

When Quinn went to Saint and didn't find Santana.

When her text messages and voicemails went unanswered.

When Iris called Quinn, asking for Santana, and Brittany came to return a sweater she borrowed but the brunette wasn't there.

Before, Santana had reasons to leave Quinn behind; now, she had reasons to stay for Quinn and her family. This wasn't like Santana leaving. This was Santana being taken.

The day came two weeks and three days ago to teach Quinn about the two kinds of waiting.

* * *

_Two weeks and one day ago._

"No, I haven't seen her. She didn't come home," Quinn tried to say the words without her voice wavering with worry. Her hands gripped the mug, threatening to break under the tension in her body. Nothing in the apartment indicated that Santana would leave. No missing duffel bags, not a piece of clothing missing from its hanger. The headphones sat on the table by the radio, set in a way that made it look like Santana had gotten up to go to the bathroom.

"I haven't seen her either but she wouldn't just leave," Iris' voice came thinly through the phone. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just almost spilled our Starbucks. Open the door, I'm here," Iris demanded in a endearing way that only Iris could manage. It was sisterly and argumentative at the same time.

Quinn opened the door to the loft, the petite sister on the other side with her hands full of Starbucks and a white box of pastries. Quinn could smell the raspberry through the box. Iris always resorted to food as a default for comforting people.

But when Quinn tore her eyes away from the box of pastries and reached for her tea, she looked up to find Iris scanning the room cautiously.

"What?" Quinn sipped her tea.

"What is that sound?" Iris shifted uncomfortably as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

Quinn stopped drinking. She listened carefully. "I don't hear anything."

Iris rolled her shoulders, as though trying to get some sort of sound out from her body. "How can you not hear that? It's grating.. and eerie." Her ears perked, trying to identify the source of that high-pitched sound. "It sounds like the end of a tape recording, you know, that kind of empty screeching."

Green eyes glanced at the headphones just a few feet away, in the living room space. She walked over to the equipment gingerly, hesitating to suggest it. That maybe Eric called. That maybe Eric said something to take Santana away. And that maybe, just maybe, Santana was at Allele.

She picked up the headphones, turned and held them out to Iris. Iris turned, hearing the sound closer, and saw black headphones in Quinn's outstretched hands. Her sharp dark eyes narrowed as she took them and gently placed them over her ears. Iris adjusted different knobs on the system, muttering, "I gave her and Eric this stupid relic of a machine. I didn't know she kept it."

Quinn watched her face carefully, looking for answers in her expression. "Do you hear anything?"

Iris shook her head, "Only that sound at the end of a recording. Maybe- we can-" Iris started and stopped sentences as she fiddled with the machines. "If we can-"

And she stopped suddenly, pressing the headphones into her ears.

Iris' nimble hands rewinded the sound, a sound that was inaudible to Quinn's ears.

She rewinded and played, rewinded and played, rewinded and played.

Quinn didn't want to know, she didn't want to ask. She stared at the way Iris slowly pivoted on on her heel, reminding her of the way Santana did that when she was reluctant to share something. _A genetic habit_, Quinn mused. Her emerald eyes made its way up from Iris' pivoting heel to her wide-eyed expression. Her dark eyes stared intensely at and through Quinn; Quinn could almost hear gears turning in her head.

"Eric sent a message," Iris spoke softly with disbelief. "We need to go to Saint." She pressed a button on the black-faced machines and a small disc slipped out from a slit along the side of the larger machines. Quinn would have never guessed Santana had been recording the frequency the whole time.

Quinn set down her tea on the countertop, grabbed her keys, and walked out the door, closely followed by Iris.

The box of pastries and tea would sit untouched for two weeks and one day, when Quinn finally took a rest and finally came back to the loft.

* * *

"You know she wouldn't just leave and I know it, too," Iris declared as Xion settled into his seat at the conference table. Neil placed a mug in Quinn's listless hands before taking his own seat. Iris continued, "And when I went by their place," Iris nodded in Quinn's direction as she moved towards the audio equipment set up a few feet from their conference table. She slid the disc into one of the slots. "I heard this."

They waited.

Or more accurately, Quinn waited while Xion and Neil listened to something she couldn't hear. Quinn watched their eyes shift as they looked at each other, as they looked at everyone but her. She sat with her hands under her thighs to keep from slamming her hands onto the desktop with frustration.

The question found its way out of her mouth anyway: "What? What's happening?"

Neil nodded at Xion and Iris, whose lips were pressed together firmly. He explained, his striking

California face distorted with concern and reluctance, "We learned a method of three-dimensional mapping based on numbering," he grabbed a pen and began dotting a pad of paper. "See, this is zero, zero, upper right hand. And then here would be x1, x2, x3, along this way until you have a width. And then here, this would be y1, y2, y3, and so on." He sketched a three-dimensional cube, his long fluid lines forming a drawing.

Quinn looked puzzled. "So?"

Iris nodded encouragingly, urging him to explain what she couldn't to her close friend. Neil continued, spinning the pad of paper to bring closer to Quinn across the table, "He built her a internal map of the system." Neil turned to Iris and spun his finger as to tell her to rewind the tape. She did and he furrowed his brows, listening carefully.

A sketch of a building began to form on the paper. When he finished, a complex blueprint of a multi-floored building emerged. Neil's sketch was admirable, the precision of his drawings to scale.

Neil set his pen down and passed the pad to Quinn. Her green eyes searched the page, soaking in the enormity of what she was about to command with a tone reminiscent of a head cheerleader. She stood up, her fingers pressed firmly into the paper, "We're going to call the others and then, we're going to rescue her."

Xion's eyes widened slightly, seeing this side of Quinn for the first time. Iris grinned mischievously, despite the circumstances, because she saw the commander-in-chief in Quinn. From the Rubiks' cube to a sharp mind, Quinn was equipped to commandeer this operation. Neil pumped his fists excitedly, whooping like a teenager, "Yes! Operation Snixitude is underway!"

Sweeping her sharp eyes across the table, carefully internalizing the busy bodies compiling the equipment for their plans, Quinn felt the ache of loving, caring, and wanting Santana and relished it; it fueled the fire that burned in the pit of her stomach, the one that threatened to consume her body and burn the trail all the way to Santana. And then burn down the walls keeping her body apart from Quinn's.

* * *

_Now._

Somewhere far away, a brunette stirred in her drugged state, her limbs heavy. Her lids felt swollen, her fingers barely twitched, and her head ached. The small figure strained her ears. Her body may have betrayed her, in the one place that could immobilize her, but her mind stayed sharp, picking up on the details, conversations, and slips that informed her that she was in Allele.

And that Allele had certain answers.

And that Allele did not have other answers.

And that she had seen Eric once, a devastating, heart-wrenching instant that firmly gripped her lungs and squeezed until the air left her body and she was dizzy with disbelief.

And that she was missing the sensation of arms wrapped around her, a warm body. Instead, the only thing wrapped around her was metal, cold metal, around her wrists. But the gears in her mind continued to turn._  
_


End file.
